Remember Zion
by G.E Waldo
Summary: Time-line: Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven Summary: "Take what you like and pay for it, says God." Spanish proverb Pairing: House/Wilson/Multiples. Rating: NC-17, Adult
1. Chapter 1

REMEMBER ZION

Part IfBy GeeLadyf

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heavenf

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will probably never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

Thanks to manidefronsac for the theme suggestion: "What about people who want House BECAUSE he CAN bear children?"

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_Nothing says I love you like murder._

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In the quiet of the still evening, around the small world of the farm and its familiar inhabitants, the unfamiliar came.

A noise like the buzzing of insects, if insects could raise a cloud on a gravel road or rise above the sudden bleating the disturbed nanny goats.

"Hey." Foreman left off shaking out feed to the nervous creatures jostling his legs in the pen. Their bearded snoozes sought out the shade of the small lean-to in the hot July sun, each trying to get its nose into the bucket first.

"Hey!" Foreman shouted even louder, back over his shoulder to Chase who was nearer to the main house than he was. "Get the others!" Foreman dumped the bucket on the ground for the goats to fend for themselves, and raced to the brick, two-story to warn Danny and Wilson.

Wilson was busy mixing coarse flour in a bowl and Danny was trying to repair a weak spot in the stove pipe that rose from the wood burning, black iron furnace to just below the ceiling by wrapping a flat piece of tin around the pipe, and holding it in place by twisting together the ends of two lengths of naked wire. Both men turned when Foreman burst into the room. "Danny! Get your revolver." He threw Wilson a look of sober urgency. "Hide House and the kids right now and keep them _quiet_. We've got visitors."

A rag-tag trio of motorized two-wheelers that had seen far better days snaked narrow patterns into the dirt lane leading to the farms main courtyard of black dirt and weeds. The section of land and tumbled down buildings that Foreman, Chase, Wilson, Danny and House had come to call home gave no sign that the strangers were not welcome and the strangers offered no sign that said they were something to be unwelcome.

They appeared to be simply men traveling on motorbikes down a country lane. Like the old days when it would have a pleasure trip and a pit-stop at cousin's so-and-so for beers and a barbecue.

Foreman knew it was hardly for any such reason the strangers had arrived. Why so swiftly became evident when the last of the three gas fired contraptions came to a cough and stopped. When the dust settled a bit, a two wheeled wood cart affair that had followed the motorbike-cade, and pulled by the third and largest motorcycle, halted. It was obviously the convoy's rickety caboose.

Foreman's physician's eye for the human form immediately noted that on its rough surface lay a man wrapped in blankets. Hovering over him was the protective presence of the final man in the four man group.

"Help!" The first of the fellows, thin, black hair styled in a mop of dirty strings by days of dusty travel, leaped off his bike and hurried up to Foreman.

Danny had appeared at Foreman's side with his small revolver, the one he had used to shoot the murderer Hayes in the back, and had it aimed at the strangers mid-section.

But the thin man with the messy hair seemed not to notice anything or anyone but Foreman. "Are you Foreman?" He asked.

Foreman nodded. Clearly the man knew him, or _of_ him.

"We heard about you guys from some travelers who passed our way about eight or nine weeks ago. You're doctors, right? They said we'd know you, because at least one of you would be black."

When Foreman only exchanged looks with Chase and Wilson, the fellow added, his face sweaty, his forehead lined with worry. "They said to come here if we needed a doctor's help."

As he spoke, Foreman watched with one eye as the still form in the blankets was gently lifted off the wood cart by two of the others and carried closer. They brought the mummy-like wrapped person and lay him just a few yards away from the porch, looking to the one speaking, waiting. Looking to Foreman as well, for words of welcome or warning.

"Yes. We're doctors. What do you want?" Foremen was careful to keep his tone neutral but not friendly. Friendly wouldn't have hurt in the old times, but these days, friendliness was a manner of scared men. Cautious was the new friendly. He knew what they wanted of course. But that's about he knew of them, and that was an unbalanced state that needed to be rapidly altered. Goods were hardly ever weighed in the scales of need anymore. People and their hidden agendas, were.

The skinny man pointed behind him and walked toward his very still companion lying on the ground, all the while looking over his shoulder at Foreman, beseeching him to come closer with anxious words. "Our mate. Our Blue, he's sick. Please. He's _real_ sick."

Foreman turned his head to look Danny in the eye and nodded. Danny understood that Foreman meant to approach their guests ill mate and Danny should have Chase, who stood in the doorway of the main house, his arms crossed defensively, his longbow tucked at his side, have Wilson come outside too. "Tell Wilson to bring the bag." Foreman ordered.

Their only medicine bag was produced by Wilson, who gave it to Chase who brought it to Danny who handed it to Foreman. It was a small leather case that had once served as a bowling ball pouch and now called for a more noble purpose. It's contents were significantly lighter and far more precious than any ceramic globe.

Foreman approached the quiet men and could feel the fear. He wasn't sure if it was fear of him or fear for their ill mate. Perhaps both.

Even from a few feet away, Foreman could smell the illness, the infection, rising from the tissues of the Blue. "Unwrap him please. I need to examine him." Foreman thought better of it. "In fact, let's get him onto the porch."

With hardly any effort, two of the stranger companions shuttled their breeder the short distance to the freshly swept porch. Foreman was glad for Wilson's daily spic and spanning with a broom.

There on the cleaner, more level surface Foreman was able to make his examination out of the blinding heat of a noon day summer sun. Under the blanket, though, he knew was gloom. The coverings were removed and beneath the layers, their birth-mate was naked.

Checking his patient's carotid pulse while watching for regular breaths, Foreman cited his findings for Wilson who crouched beside him, ready to assist. "Pulse is rapid and thready." He gently lifted each of the man's slack eyelids, falling easily back into the doctor speak he hardly had occasion to use anymore. It returned like an old friend. "Pupils equal, round, sluggish." Foreman had no tiny flashlight tucked conveniently into his shirt pocket, so he turned the man's face to a small beam of sun that had wiggled its way through a crack in the porch roof and, in turn, let it shine on each of the dull blue irises and the pinpoint black pupils. "Little response to light."

Wilson thrust a thermometer beneath the man's armpit. While waiting for its glassy knowledge, Foreman palpitated the unconscious man's abdomen and felt a familiar and distinctive swelling. "He's pregnant?" He asked the man closest to him, realizing he knew none of their names. "What's your name, kid?"

"Bobby." Answered the young blond fellow with the pocked complexion.

"Do you know how far along he is, Bobby"

Bobby looked to one of his older mates to provide and answer. Next to him, an older man of forty-some years said, "More'n' three weeks. Maybe four."

Foreman solicited Wilson's help in lifting and bending the patient's legs so he could have better access to the the perineum. Immediately, the acrid stench of septicemia invaded all their senses. Foreman held his breath and visually examined the un-broken perineum where a birth canal should have split through and dropped. There was old bruising and swelling - too much swelling - but no birth canal.

Foreman knew Wilson knew without speaking it that the breed-mate had gone septic-beyond help many hours ago, probably days ago. The poor creature's body had demanded he birth the child but then for some reason his body had failed to open the gate for that child to escape.

Foreman quietly said to Wilson. "He's completely purulent." Foreman palpitated the man's lower abdomen, farther down, closer to his groin and could feel the larger swelling there. The color of the skin directly above the area was gray and the dead tissue of his unborn lay wedged in a putrefying mass against the unyielding wall of the acetabulum. Foreman could feel the crackling of the fetus's decomposing flesh beneath his probing fingers.

The two physicians exchanged glances. Both understood the poor birth-father of the dead baby was soon to follow his unborn into the after-life. Hopefully a far better life, if there was any justice at all.

"The baby's dead." Foreman announced simply. No one had time or heart to mince words anymore. Death had left it's unmistakable brand on the consciousness of every man left alive and the soft-peddling of stark truth had been gladly abandoned by all. No one had the stomach for it anymore.

"I'm sorry." Foreman announced to the desperate men who had ferried their sick breed-mate he knew not how many miles or days so he, a doctor, a rare and wonderful kind of person, could save him. "Your mate is going to die. There's nothing we can do."

The youngest member of the group of visitors stared at Foreman in shock. That kind of news can knock the wind out of a person. His face scrunched up and he began to cry.

Watching and feeling useless, "I'm sorry." Wilson said. The kid had to be no more than nineteen.

Two other members of their new-found acquaintances gathered around their beloved companion. The men were something sorry to look at though not in features or body.

The three of them, from the young one with the bad complexion crying freely beside his dying mate and gazing around him as though the oppressive summer air might explain the unfairness of it, to the oldest-looking graying-haired man who seemed more a father than a sire to the dying one - all of them looked hungry, exhausted and desperate in their sadness.

Even their clothes showed evidence of bad times; dirty and torn, as though the men had traveled a very long way only to watch helplessly while their precious mate died on a foreign patch of soil.

Only one man stood apart, a tall, huskily built man of narrow, finely boned face and skin as black as coal. He had the whitest of the white in his eyes set above a wide nose and prominent cheekbones, but the eyes were rimmed in tears and shot through with the red veins of a beaten-to-death grief.

Wilson wondered if this man had been the primary love of the dying BM's life.

Wilson walked over to Foreman, who waited apart a respectful distance. He could hear the comatose patient's labored breaths as they slowed and shallowed out.

Wilson felt again, as he had often felt years ago, that without the modern conveniences of machines designed to support life-crucial functions such as heart-rate, breathing, fluids, and bacteria and pathogen killing drugs, his skills were limited to the point of being nearly useless.

It was not even an hour later that the BM finally took his last swallow of air. By that time, Foreman and Wilson had wandered off on an aimless, solitary circle walk, to give the men space to mourn. After what seemed like the proper time interval, he, Foreman and Chase offered to help them bury their dead mate in a fresh dirt grave in the woods nearby.

Chase was thoughtful enough not only to offer to plant flowers around the fresh mound, but say a service over the body, if they wished. The men quietly thanked him. Wilson had forgotten Chase's on-again, off-again religious proclivities and was suddenly glad to have someone around who knew a few words of prayer.

Once the words were said and the odd-ball group of men gathered back at the main house, the big man who had stood apart shyly approached Wilson and shook his hand, his face unashamedly wet. "He was _my_ mate first-" The hulk of a man, broken up over his dead lover, looked away to the field to hide his heart from scrutiny,

"-before any of the others came along, see." He explained, as though apologizing for his tears.

Wilson understood very well how the man felt and had a longing to tell him so. He wanted the fellow to know that someone in the world had once felt exactly the same way he did.

When House had been gone, dragged off to New Dawn to face deprivation and execution at the hands of religious zealots, Wilson had felt a hole open in him the world could not have choked, with room to spare. A pain more horrible than any he had known prior or since. A pain that drove him nearly mad with anguish. His mind had froze on the terrible moment and for his stolen mate, his flesh had become trapped in a perpetual howl.

They had all lived in a torturous hunger over House's absence and the very real terror that he was gone forever.

Wilson wished he could say these things to the crying man who wiped at the tears he seemed to find cumbersome, but the safety of House and the kids, and therefore the absolute secrecy to assure them of it, was too important. It was crucial. Knowledge of House, a so-called "BM", a Blue-Eyed Mutant, capable of becoming pregnant and giving birth to real, live, tiny babies, was too precious a gift to risk for anything or anyone. Not even this poor, grieving soul.

House was, in a very literal sense, irreplaceable. He was their future. Wilson secretly smiled to himself that House's swollen ego, king over all things House, regularly gloated about by House himself all those years ago, had turned out to be correct. House _was_ The Man.

"If you've never had a birth-mate," the black man, who's towering bulk dwarfed Wilson's six-foot-one, snorted to clear his dripping nose, "well, let me just say losing him is the worst fucking pain I've ever felt in my whole life." He angrily erased the tears once more by drawing his right sleeve across his face, leaving a wide smear of dirt. "If I didn't have my other mates, I'd wanna' go down to the dirt with 'im."

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Wilson fed them all vegetable stew and bread. The four still living visitors lapped it up like hounds, so starved were they after pushing the light to reach Foreman and the others.

Wilson felt sorry for them. Especially the young one and the big fellow, who's eyelids were still rims of red.

The doctor's had learned the stranger's names and from where they had come.

"We drove almost three days." The gray-haired fellow said, who's name was Josh. "We came 'bout six hundred miles we figure."

The other man's name, the man who hardly said a word, preferring to let his mates do all the talking, called himself Wolf and the big, black fellow's name was Eli.

When introductions were spoken all around, "Pleased to meet you." Was all Eli said.

Wilson suggested giving them some provisions for the road so the men could return home safely. Secretly he wanted to hurry them off as fast as possible. The longer they were there, the more risk one of them might discover the existence of House. Already Wilson had sneaked on sock feet up the stairs with hidden food and water for House and the kids. Thankfully, the babies were sleepy and had full tummies. No crying bouts so far but they both knew that couldn't possibly last.

But urging them to be off while still dark might rouse suspicion, so Foreman suggested to the guests they could sleep in the barn. "It's warm in there. Sorry, we have no room in the house."

Though clearly depressed over his dead mate, Eli was grateful. Bobby followed Eli out to the barn and Wolf and Josh, who appeared to be their leader, soon followed.

Wilson closed and cross-barred the door, breathing a sigh of relief.

Chase voiced what they were all thinking. "I'm glad they're leaving tomorrow."

Foreman nodded. "I think one of us should stay in the room with House and the kids." Foreman was their unspoken leader. He was a cautious man who calculated his steps.

They all agreed and Danny was chosen for the job. Danny checked his revolver and though it held no bullets it seemed sufficiently threatening that anyone would hesitate to test out if there was. He was the only one who had ever shot a man and felt now that if House or any of them were threatened, he could do so again.

Foreman had teased him about it. "Nothing says I love you like murder."

But the consensus was to shoot straight and apologize later.

Wilson was disappointed that he was not the one chosen to stay with House but then he also knew he was relatively useless in a fight. "We'll be right next door." He assured Danny needlessly.

Danny patted Wilson on the shoulder. "I know."

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By the time Foreman and Wilson had got up, the motorbikes were already gone from the yard and Foreman could not help but be relieved. The tight register of tension that had set up in his guts since the strangers arrival was finally easing.

"Where's Chase?" Wilson asked.

Foreman zipped up his well-worn jeans. He was down to two pairs. One for work and one for every other moment in life. He hardly ever wore the other ones. "Probably down at the shed."

The shed was the out-door toilet, put back in use rather than waste the precious well water for something as frivolous as a flushing John.

"Wake up Danny and House." Wilson instructed. "I'm starting breakfast."

Wilson stoked the smoldering embers in his black cook stove and encouraged them to life with additions of kindling and two or three larger pieces of dry wood. In minutes, he had a healthy fire and put water on to boil for the tea and for the heating of baby formula.

In the center of the kitchen floor was a trap door that lead down nine steep stairs to the dirt cellar where everything was in cool darkness. He lit a candle and looked on the shelves for a jar of the June berries he had preserved in a syrup of their own juice and honey. Mashed with soft-baked bread, it was breakfast for the children.

"Wilson!"

Wilson almost bumped his head on the ceiling when Foreman bellowed his name from the second floor.

He scrambled from the cellar with a jar in each hand. "What?" He asked, irritated. Foreman had almost made him drop them.

"Did House come downstairs while I was dressing?" Foreman was hurrying from kitchen to living room to porch, sticking his head around every corner in search of the often frustratingly elusive House.

"No. I don't think so."

"Danny's not in their room."

Wilson felt the smallest chill of fear in his chest. "The kids?"

"The kids are fine, they're still in their cribs but House isn't there and neither is Danny."

Wilson raced up the stairs, breakfast forgotten. "I'll stay with them. Find House and get Chase!"

Foreman didn't have to be asked and beat his own record for a dash to the out-house. He rapped on the door with a hard fist. "Chase?"

"What?" Chase asked. Foreman could hear him turning the page of a magazine.

"We can't find House, man. Did you see Danny this morning?"

Dead silence. Then, "Jesus, no, I haven't. _Either_ of them."

Danny they found after a short search of the feed and junk sheds. Behind the rusting bones of a long dead auger, they found Danny, empty, useless gun still tangled in his skinny fingers. He'd been strangled and he was dead.

They never found House.

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Part II asap.

Goals: Part V of Going Inside-Out by Friday. Ditto for Fairy God Doctor Part VIII


	2. Chapter 2

REMEMBER ZION

Part IIf

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will probably never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

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_He was a man trying to do right by all. Problem with that was - it was impossible. No one can do right by everyone. You can hardly do right by yourself when life was reduced to theft and chains in order to woo a lover._

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He should not be moving.

He should not have the bones of his hip and shoulder grinding against a rough surface either, turning his muscles to hamburger with every bump and sway. Even through the blankets he could feel wound tightly around his body, to all intents and purposes mummifying him, the wood still rubbed through, leaving spots of him raw.

When his mind woke up enough from the effects of what his sluggish but still physician trained knowledge told him was some sort of anesthetic, it arrived just there enough to tweak him to back the surface of the world, and to the sickening realization that he had been taken from his children, his mates and his home. A home he had enjoyed in relative peace for nearly a year. Children he had come to treasure above all else; to his private astonishment.

But none of those valuables were with him on this swaying thing that was ferrying him where he did not want to go. House lay still - no choice really, they had trussed up his ankles and feet and gagged his mouth with a road-dusty twist of material, all to keep him cooperative and silent. All the while the rattling, chugging calls of two-wheeled engines carried him farther and farther away.

The faces of his children crying for him, the stricken faces of Foreman, Chase, Danny and especially Wilson, were frozen in his wet eyes. The thought that he would never see them again was almost too much to bear. Funny how the world kept insisting people bear things that by right should break them to bits. But what else was there to do? The bonds and gag and rolling thing taking him away allowed no options.

In a terrible moment all the years of the life that mattered had been taken from him once more. From one moment, lying beside Danny who was there to protect him, to the next moment of post-unconscious lethargy, to another moment of confusion and now to this one; outright panic. Everything that was about to happen to him was being re-written with other hands.

House screamed to see if the noise of it was enough to reach outside the blanket to any passing ears not traveling with the nest of human thieves.

The rattle of the old-times engines were the only things that yelled back.

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Wilson cradled tiny David James; his baby with House; the one belonging to just his and House's bodies; the one he especially loved. This was the baby who reminded him the most of his birth-mate.

"Foreman and Chase have gone after the bad men who took your dad." Wilson cooed to the child, knowing the tiny thing understood none of it. He said the words so the sound would sooth the fussy baby, now almost eight months old, and in hopes that their in-woven hope might sooth himself.

The children were all so tiny still. One aspect of male child-birth was - the babies had to come out ridiculously tiny for their craniums to fit through the narrowness of the masculine pelvis. It meant a pound was an average and healthy birth-weight of a baby born by a man. It also meant that the first year of growth outside the womb served to simply bring the children up to six or seven pounds. Rapid development inside the womb meant delayed development outside it.

No one cared about that. Wilson didn't want them to grow up fast.

This wasn't the way it would have been in Laurent's baby-factories. They would never have been allowed to see, much less raise, their own children.

Wilson stared at the babies' curious light brown eyes, trying to remember the sparkling blue of the father's, and encouraging the puckered mouth to suckle a finger of the yellow rubber glove, carefully sterilized and filled with home-made formula. For the kid's dinners there would be apple sauce and crushed fruit, minced chicken and garden peas.

"Your daddy's going to be okay. We'll find him." Wilson set aside the glove. "And we'll punish the bad men who took him."

Wilson made himself believe it. It was that or lose himself in grief and be useless to their children. And he had to keep House's children warm and safe until their birth-daddy was brought home.

Wilson looked out the living room window, lovingly and expertly repaired nearly a year ago by Chase and Foreman, back when they had first discovered their new home. Dust devils marked the tire trails where his companions had set out to track the murderer/kidnappers. Wilson knew all he had to do is look out into the surrounding trees and somewhere behind their fall leaves, Danny was buried in a fresh grave and covered in rocks.

His eyes quickly abandoned that view for the road again. His mates would come home, bringing a living, healthy House with them.

Their only working car had sparked to life but with just under a half tank of gas left . . .

Wilson prayed it was enough to fuel a rescue.

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House felt himself being lifted with strong arms and carried over a short distance. The rustling of boots on long grass and then wood or linoleum. A door creaked open, then shut. Chains through metal and the scrap of an unforgiving padlock. The smell of stale air ripe with mildew. His rough blanket was finally unwound from his body and he greeted the faces of his kidnappers for the first time. At least the weather outside wasn't yet below freezing. At least the room wasn't constructed from thin metal that would eagerly welcome in the cold.

The one he recognized as the leader, by the way he ordered the others around, the one they called Josh, crouched down on chubby haunches and stared at him. Then he reached out one hand and removed the gag at his mouth.

House breathed freely for the first time in hours. Save for brief respites where it was removed to let him drink or eat, he'd worn the hated thing for days. The blindfold had never been removed until now.

Josh's first words were "Jonesy's dead and you're gonna give us babies. Only fair."

House felt a swarm of fury at their barbaric assumption that he was just going to spread his legs for them because they said so. "Fuck you." His vocal chords protested with a dry rasp.

Josh shrugged. "Soon enough."

He stood and jerked his head at the youngster they called Bobby. "Clean him up."

Bobby glanced nervously at House, but the devotion in the young man's eyes to the older man Josh was unmistakable. House didn't think he had an ally there. "Sure thing, Josh."

Josh winked at Bobby who's face lit up like the sunshine. House heard the tune of, if not mental slowness in the kid's responses, at least an youthful ignorance of life and the lies it contained.

Bobby left for a few minutes and returned with a basin of soapy water and a couple of rags draped over his arm. As he made preparations to - what? Give him a bath?

House wasn't actually sure what the kid was going to do until he wrung a rag in the soapy water and, without loosening House's bonds in the least, stuck the sopping rag up under his shirt.

A bath it was.

The water was freezing and House jerked from the uncomfortable sensation. "Sorry," the kid had the decency to say, "but we don't have hot water here. Not even running water. Just this well water."

House stared at the kid, fascinated despite himself, at the kid's oddly congenial behavior to his captive. "You always do everything that toad says?"

"Don't even try."

The kid was not as slow as House had assumed.

"Josh saved my life. I would have been raped and eaten if not for him. I owe him everything."

"_You_ owe him everything maybe." House said, "I don't."

Bobby was surprisingly gentle as he cleaned off days worth of road dust and grit on House's stomach and back. Then he pulled off House's worn sneakers and holed socks, re-wringing out the rag and working it between his toes to remove the accumulated grunge. House shivered.

"Josh'll make you wish different if you fight him, or try and run-"

"-Is that what happened to you? Did he make you _owe_ him?" House watched the kids face closely for any change of expression. "How often did he _remind_ you of your debt?"

Ignoring the question, "Wolf'll be back in to get those chains off and then we can clean up the rest of you." Bobby stared at House, right in the eye; pale browns to vibrant blues held a non-violent stand-off in the dim light of the room with one window. Bars across the cracked glass. House wondered if any others had try to break their way out?

"He'll bring a gun."

It was more than fair warning and held no hint of threat in it at all. It was simply fact. It was the way things were in Bobby's weird little world where Josh was his sun up in the dark sky.

"Supper soon too." Bobby said as he gathered his rags and the now grimy black water. "I make damn good porcupine."

House watched the odd young man leave him alone and bolt the door behind him. His leg was hot with pain and he was tired and nauseous with no stomach for exotic meat. He lay back down on his side and tried not to think about his kids or Wilson.

The kids, he knew, would be all right. Foreman and Chase were strong characters and would watch them like the good dads they were.

Wilson was the one he worried about. Wilson did not tolerate loss well. Wilson was the one who needed the most watching.

House figured whatever was ahead he would survive or, if not, he would be able to accept and die under it; whatever it was. But Wilson. Wilson would fret himself into a heart attack or worse.

House knew if he wanted to see Wilson again, if he wanted anyone else to keep seeing Wilson, he had to get home soon. Wilson was a lost hopeless, idiot and House loved that hopeless idiot more than anything or anyone else he had ever loved, with the exception of his children.

As once more thoughts of them bloomed in his heart, he bit down hard, driving them back.

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-

House was beginning to think he was going to be left another night in his chains, but several hours later the rattle of the lock on the door alerted him to company and he was relieved to see it was the young kid.

"Eli went hunting." Bobby announced, as though it were supposed to mean something to his prisoner. "And Josh is going to take you to his bed tonight." The kid kept his eyes averted and his head down as he began to loosen, though not completely unfasten, the chains on House's hands. The ones on his feet he left as they were.

"Wolf'll be here in a minute so we can carry you up."

Up probably meant upstairs. House said nothing to the being forced into the role of Josh's bed-mate part, other than to promise himself he'd gouge out the man's gonads with his fingernails if he had to, even if Josh strangled him in return.

"I'm never going to willingly sleep with any of you." House said, his thin brows scrunched together and his eyes never leaving Bobby's bad complexion. "You'll have to kill me first."

Bobby nodded. He had expected the resistance. "Josh knows that."

They were going to tie him to the bed or something then, House mused. "Why doesn't Wolf do the hunting?"

Bobby seemed surprised by the question, but the reaction was fleeting. "Because he's clumsy." The kid stood up, "I'll be back in a minute."

House felt sick to his stomach from a day's lack of food and proper rest. He was thankful that he was not currently pregnant, the pig intestines having served him and his partners as fairly reliable stand-ins for proper condoms. But here...

His thoughts were again interrupted by the return of the kid followed by the man they called Wolf. Wolf's expression, House recognized, was nothing if not boredom. Where-as Bobby enthusiastically obeyed every utterance from Josh's mouth, Wolf seemed pleased to do what he told but beyond doing it, appeared to care little of the whys.

As promised, they each grabbed hold of House, Bobby by hooking his hands under House's armpits and Wolf who wrapped his thick fingers around House's chained ankles. With a lot of sweat and some cursing, they maneuvered him up the awkward, narrow staircase, depositing him on a large, comfortable looking bed on the second floor.

It had to be Josh's room.

Wolf said with no particular interest "You'll soon be soaked wid uz." He spoke in a halting, nasal heavy voice like he was congested with snot. "Same tig' 'append' wid Jonesah."

_You mean you raped him until his body decided to like you? _House thought but wisely kept his mouth shut. The man Wolf was unreadable and might equally cut his throat as sing him a love song.

"We' lov'd 'im." Wolf said. "N he loved uz."

Jonesy had gotten used to them, was Wolf's meaning. Chemically, he had wound up trapped by the cross-physical drives that drew breeders and sires together. Eventually Jonesy's flesh had craved for them as theirs had for his, chemically programmed him into becoming their willing breeder, helpless against the forces of the new lop-sided nature of Earth.

House understood that if enough time went by, a breeder male could not prevent or counteract the cellular influence of the fleshly drug. The brain is re-wired, the mind is involuntarily made up. It was love - evolutionary style.

But real _love_? House was suddenly terribly grateful that for him, it had all gone the other way. First, Wilson had loved him, and then Foreman and eventually even Chase had grown to accept him, even want him, before the chemical sex drives made it so by default. The sex was an integral part of it, but it wasn't the catalyst, just the consummation.

House was left alone for an hour or so until his bladder let him know that any further wait would result in an accident. He have considered letting loose the lower water-works and making a mess J and his puppies would have to spend time cleaning up. Any time they spent keeping their hands off him would be worth the sacrifice of dry pants.

But, despite Bobby's lick-and-a-promise wipe with his icy rag, he was dirty, sweaty and already uncomfortable. The thought of enduring days of urine soaked underwear was more discomfort than he thought he could presently stand. And the last thing he needed was a skin rash getting infected.

So he started yelling until the man Wolf opened the door with a hard yank of its handle and stuck his head inside. "Whada' 'ell?!"

"I have to pee."

"You cah' waid."

"Let me up to pee or I'll do it right here."

"Jsh wou'dn' like dad'."

"Josh hasn't been hog-tied for twenty-four hours without a pee-break!"

Wolf frowned, turned his head half way and called down the stairs to Bobby. Then he looked at House. "Wouldn'd wanda' 'ave da' 'urd you, bud I will if I 'ave-da'."

"Wouldn't doubt it for a minute."

Wolf helped House to his feet and with Bobby's help, assisted his hobble to the bathroom. The toilet was non-working type and an old fashioned model with a pull cord, and the water tank suspended two feet above it. Beside the yellow-encrusted toilet-bowl sat a galvanized bucket of water for flushing purposes.

Wolf helped House keep a steady stance on his uneven feet and bad leg. Thankfully, House could use his hands sufficiently to fumble at his fly and make with the water himself.

Once he was done, he was unceremoniously deposited on the big bed once more and spent an uncomfortable hour or more taking in the subtle odor of, he assumed Josh's particular scent. His own bodies' chemistry began to stir in him the thing he feared most; that his blood and body fluids were getting used to the smell of the hated man and if House wasn't careful, he'd find himself not only responding to the abductor's loathed physical advances, he'd soon mindlessly be reveling in them.

There was only one thing House knew that would curb such appetites and that was pain. The sun had gone down and when he heard footsteps on the stairs, House managed to sit himself on his backside. He held his chained hands above his head, took a breath, and brought them down on his ruined thigh with all the force he could muster.

Pain shot down to the tips of his foot and up through his torso, radiating back around his head like blows from a forest-man's ax. House fell flat on his back. His breath became ragged and even a whimper escaped his lips, though he quickly quelled any such sounds.

The bedroom door opened and Josh entered with Wolf at his side. Josh looked at him with a smattering of concern, but rather than ask the patient, he turned to Wolf. "What's wrong with him?"

"D'nno'."

Addressing House, Josh repeated the question. House didn't answer him.

Josh stared at him, then shrugged and removed his thick jacket. On the sleeve was a slogan "J's Rentals and 24 Hour Towing." So Josh used to tow cars away. Now he just took people.

Wolf had some coils of thin rope in his hand and House saw that he had guessed right, they were going to tie him to the bed.

As slow as Wolf seemed, he had mind enough to roll House to one side, tie one hand tightly to the post, and only then did he remove the chains around his wrists. Josh, a man of thick muscles, assisted. Soon, House was strapped face-down and spread eagle to the old four post bed.

Josh's expression was that this was a thing done almost every day here-abouts. Nothing unusual or immoral at all in kidnapping, confinement and rape.

Josh removed his shirt and pants and was soon naked in skin so white it was almost blinding, exposing a beer gut complete with stretch marks. House only managed to glimpse the man in his peripheral vision, wondering how Josh would react if, at the end of their romantic interlude, he vomited instead of climaxed.

Neither had time to think about it more. Wolf stepped forward and, using scissors House was sure they kept around for just such occasions, cut away at House's clothing until he, too, was as bare-assed as the day he was born.

Josh stepped forward and House felt the bed dip as the man sat down on its edge. Josh placed a rough hand on House's left ass cheek. "Mmmmm. Nice." House jumped when a thick finger pushed between his cheeks and felt around for his hole. "Bobby, get me the goose grease."

A thundering of heavy feet startled them all.

Wolf spoke. "'Mus' b' Eli. E's bak-uhly."

Heavy steps pounded the floorboards from the downstairs and was soon up at the top, making their way toward the bedroom. The door was opened with such force that it slammed against the wall and back again. And the big man, Eli, standing in the open doorway had to stop it from rebounding back in his face.

He took in the scene and demanded. "I wondered if you'd . . .what the hell do you think you're doing Josh?" He put the question to the naked rapist who stared back with authoritative defiance.

"What do you think? I'm introducing myself to our new breeder here."

Eli just stared at House, naked on the bed, and then at the man who seemed to be leader of them all, though, at that moment, Eli didn't seem to care who was leader. "You're not going to do this, Josh."

"This is what we have to do." He stabbed a finger in House's direction. "He's never going to cooperate otherwise. You know that."

House had to agree.

"It's what we had to do with Jonesy."

From his restricted movement and inconvenient position, House could see only just enough of Eli's face to recognize that it was the wrong thing to say to the man. The large man's face darkened to an even darker hue than it was. As black as his skin was, it was glowing devil red. "That's not the way of it and you know it." He hissed, jabbing a massive thumb to the center of his chest where beneath lay a heart House figured, given the fellow's mass, must be the size of a baseball glove.

"Jonesy was _my_ mate." Elie said, his voice turned dangerous. "I talked him into sharing himself with you." Eli looked like he was either going to cry or tear someone apart. House felt it a little terrifying that he had no idea which.

"And he died giving birth to your baby." Eli, whose eyes held no affection at that moment for his leader, snarled. "Now you just want to start all over with a stranger? Jonesy loved you! And you are not going to welcome a new breeder into our group by raping him."

Eli moved to the bed and Wolf simply stepped away, letting him.

Josh, the man who had only short moments ago looked so confident and in control, did nothing to re-assert his position.

So Josh, House decided, either _was _the leader, or Eli _let_ him be. He hoped it was the latter.

Thankful to have his wrists and ankles back, and free from fetters, House wrapped the top blanket around himself and watched as the drama in the room in which he was the victim, wrapped itself up.

Eli spent a moment just staring down Josh who finally sighed and dressed himself again. Even the arrogant sometimes know when to throw in the towel. Or when, like in this instance, not even enter the ring. "This isn't good, Eli." Was all he said.

"Yes it is." Eli said, his tone making clear his profound disapproval over what had almost transpired in his home. "Not raping the new guy is about the only good thing that's happened in this place in the last week."

Josh straightened his shirt, exasperated at his largest and most righteously inclined mate. "What do you propose then? Sweet talk? Flowers and candy?"

Eli pursed his lips. "I don't know. But not this."

Once the others had emptied the room, Eli gently untied House and escorted him to his own room again. The single mattress and thin blanket greeted him with dismal comfort.

Eli, with apology in his eyes, motioned for House to stretch out his legs again so he could chain them up once more. House did so and the chains were made fast. "They're really not as bad as it seems. They're just, just..."

"Just devoid of morals?" House offered. The big fellow had saved his ass, in the very literal sense of the word, but House couldn't bring himself to thank him for it. Eli was just one more kidnapper and no more special than the others.

"No. Just lacking in judgment." Eli looked at him, staring just for a moment. "Your eyes are really beautiful." He blurted, then gave a hard yank on the chains to make sure they were good for the night. "You'll get used to them. You'll grow to love them. They're idiots and I love them."

"Seems like you're the one lacking good judgment."

"They're my _mates_!"

A common protest House had heard before, back in the old times. _He's my husband! She's my daughter! _The last cry of a just about anyone who felt they had to support the criminal behavior or the reckless and stupid actions of their loved one. It was a desperate affirmation of themselves and their own misjudgment. A plea that said - No! This person, no matter how evil, is lovable. Because if not, I've wasted my love and years. I've wasted _me_.

House didn't try to argue the point. Such declarations came from emotional wells and not those of reason.

"Every thing's going to be okay." Eli added.

Another useless platitude that said little and meant even less. Who or what was everything and how specifically was it going to be okay?

"They're going to have to rape me. Or kill me. Either way, no one's getting a free pass into my pants."

Eli looked sharply at House as he turned to leave. "I won't let them hurt you."

"You're one. They're _three_."

"They'll listen to me."

"If you're so gun-ho at doing the right thing, why you'd go along with it in the first place? Why let them take me?"

"'Cause I didn't know. They woke me up, sent me on ahead to do some hunting on the way home. Hours out, they caught up to me. They had you wrapped up and hidden among the supplies on the cart. I didn't know you'd even been taken until days after."

"Not very observant, are you?"

House saw the swaying emotions in the fellow's ever-changing expression. His was not a violent face. He was a man trying to do right by all. Problem with that was - it was impossible. No one can do right by everyone. You can hardly do right by yourself when life was reduced to theft and chains in order to woo a lover. Or rape to fall in love in the first place.

When Eli didn't answer his last comment, House added, "I think you believe that, but you're wrong. Eventually, they'll get tired of listening, and even if they do listen to you, this still won't work. Ever."

Eli turned back at the door, his face guarded but curious. "You don't know them. Not really. _This_ isn't them. So I don't see how you can be so sure."

"I know because I know _me_. And I'm sure because I never listen to anyone."

The fellow had no response to that and House shouted after his back. "Hey! It's cold in here. I need another blanket."

Eli paused. "Fine." He left the room to see to an extra blanket.

The padlock on the outside of the door was snapped shut with a hard click.

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Part III asap


	3. Chapter 3

REMEMBER ZION

Part III

By GeeLadyf

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will probably never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

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_Sex or bust was now law._

_-_

_-_

_-_

Six days, out and back, is what they had promised him, and day six was nearing its end.

The demands of feeding, cleaning and caring for six children, the animals and the garden had already worn him to a nub. Wilson went to bed at the end of day six too exhausted to care. The work from can't-see to can't-see kept his mind occupied and that's the way he wanted it. Daily, routine, expected things were a blessing. They drowned fear in sweat and the endless dirt and diapers associated with raising kids on a farm.

Everything was sore. Wilson listened as one of the babies woke up and began to cry for comfort. He did not rise immediately. The kids had been put to bed for the night with full tummies, clean diapers and warm blankets. The tiny cry though, like the bleat of a lamb, tugged at him. It was hard not to jump up and rush over.

Wilson thought it sounded like Drake crying, Danny's child. Drake was a fussy baby and prone to bouts of colic. Small wonder. His sire-father had been as thin as mist and his birth father -

Wilson choked off a rising sob, but it lodged in his throat like a stone.

If the crying, if Drake's problem was simply fussing, he would fall back to sleep soon enough. If not, it would grow more distressful and Wilson would get up and bring the baby to bed with him. Hardly a night went by where he did not have at least one their children nestled in the big bed he and the others shared equally - by schedule - with House.

Wilson felt a deep ache in his loins for him and a sickening dread that the exquisite painfulness of it might be all he would ever feel of House again.

What if no one came home?

Wilson tried not to think about what he would do then. Walk the several miles to the remnants of the nearby town of New Dawn to see if any residents were still scattered about? To hope that maybe one or two of them might be peaceable? Might even be willing to help him?

Not likely. Foreman and Chase had made short work of half of the town by fire. And he could not leave the kids alone, not even for a day.

Wilson turned over. Drake had quieted down. Quiet like his father Danny now was. Like the farm might remain if no one returned.

Wilson forced his eyes closed, thrusting such thoughts into darkness.

-

-

-

-

Only two people returned.

Foreman and Chase had come home on foot.

"The car ran out of gas and we left it there." Was Chase's greeting. Where there was, he did not explain, but he walked passed Wilson with Guilty-Failure, downcast eyes, and Foreman knew Chase was going to scrub some of the pain from his soul by going straight up to see the kids, particularly Rowan and Jordan, the offspring of his body; his very own children by House.

Foreman walked up to Wilson and wrapped his arms around him, to share in the soothing of souls on the verge.

Wilson could not return the gesture, not because he was not in every way relieved to see them again, but because he could not make his limbs rise to make the motions.

House had not returned with them and he himself was now turned to lead. House was gone. It was too heavy a thing to conceptualize, and if his brain could not hold it, neither could his arms or organs.

Wilson argued the point with himself because he could not immediately accept the injustice of it. It was, in an ungodly way, unfair and cruel of the world to deprive them again of the man it had so enthusiastically shaped and altered for them; for them to want him as nothing else on earth. For their bodies to crave him like air and food. First their hearts had become immutably tangled in House and, soon after, the physical drives had cemented that truth. The kings of their flesh alone allowed them no quarter - Foreman, Chase, Danny, while he still lived, and himself...clung possessively - obsessively - to House. It was sexual subservience and life sustaining law within each of them, wrapped in hormones that, at times, drove them near mad with lust. It was symbiotic desire. They _had_ to have him or expire.

It was a kind of nature-inspired and nurtured insanity, really. She wanted her earth peopled again.

And now they were denied the man, the means, to fulfill their smallest part in that.

Wilson recalled in his heart and flesh the successes they had achieved for mother earth. He himself alone had knocked House up twice, having repeatedly relished in many delicious hours of fucking him to do it.

Foreman and Chase each had made him pregnant more than once. Six beautiful babies were waking up inside the house at that very moment - living proof of the so many levels of love and sex they had shared with their birth-mate. The idea that all of that was over...

Wilson almost swooned and Foreman held on even tighter. He and Chase had discussed this on the road. They knew Wilson would be the worst off among them. As grating as he could be, they had grown to love House also, and crave his body like wolves do blood. But Wilson had always loved House from years ago, from times no one even thought of anymore. From the beginning.

Picturing them apart was absurd.

Foreman understood all of this and that's why he clung to Wilson with strong arms, rocking him just a little, there in the middle of the weedy yard. "Where-ever they took him, we,...I'm so _sorry_. It was impossible. We didn't even meet anyone else on the highway; there was no one around, anywhere, to ask. It was turn around or..."

Wilson cut off his explanations with a nod and Foreman released him.

Wilson woke up from his annihilation with a reassuring smile, finally noticing how dirty and worn to the bone his mate was. At least he had an excuse to move his limbs now in a way nature could care less about. At least of this mate he would not be deprived. "You should rest." He said quietly. Words with only as much meaning as was necessary to conduct a task; something to make him forget other life-sustaining things now beyond his reach.

Foreman heard the flatness in the words and the destruction in Wilson's brown eyes, and carefully lead his mate back to the house.

"I'll make soup." Wilson said.

-

-

-

-

House was allowed no utensils to eat. The stew Bobby brought him was chunky enough, thankfully, that he could eat it with his fingers easily enough without making too many slops down his front. House didn't ask what was in it.

This household was not unlike the one he grew up in. Take it, eat it and if any complaints about the quality of the food, or anything at all, you don't eat for two or three days until you were so famished you'd say or do almost anything to get some grub in your belly.

He finished his bowl of spice-less meat - not asking what type of animal had ended up in Bobby's cooking pot - and potatoes in watery broth and set it carefully aside. The chains on his hands had raked the thin skin of his wrists raw and any sharp movement stung. Since Eli had broke up the rape party a week prior, House had been left pretty much on his own.

But he was allowed no clothes anymore. "Maximum exposure". Josh had remarked. House's whole skin left naked to the influence of their breath, odor, sweat droplets and anything else that might drift off of them and onto him.

As little as it proved to be, House felt the change in him. His body seemed to tingle, now, when any of them entered the room. He decided he hated mother nature, and his new career of being everybody's fuck-hole.

Funny how not even four years ago, he would have jumped at the chance of a career as sex-kitten. Wilson, whose cock twitched whenever he came to within ten feet of him, back then would have mocked him for it and called him a man-slut.

Only at night was he allowed blankets to sleep under. Since it was mid-summer and the nights were hot and muggy, he didn't really need those, but he didn't tell them that

His only company had been Bobby with food, water or a pee bottle, or Eli, there to escort him to the moldy toilet bowl for his bowels occasional urges. House had tried speaking to the big man but most days, he was quiet, periodically wiping at his eyes.

House assumed he was still mourning his dead birth-mate and was stubbornly keeping his own counsel about it.

One day Eli, jerking House out of the lonely lethargy he had slipped into, said, "Tomorrow I have to go hunting again. We're almost out of meat."

House felt the fear rise. That meant -

"They'll probably try something, you know, once I'm gone."

House figured. "You're just going to let them this time."

"Can't be helped. Thing is, if you don't fight, they won't force it."

"Nice family you got here."

"None of us would have made it if we hadn't stuck together."

House believed it. No one liked to be single anymore. It was too dangerous. "They're not getting any babies out of me."

Eli nodded, expecting the words. "Well, thing is, right now it's not sex they'll be after."

House frowned. "Then wh-"

"They'll probably send Bobby in, you seem to find his company more congenial than Josh or Wolf's."

House would not have used so generous a word for either of those men. Tolerable. Less-than-nauseating. Still infuriating and hated. House saw no evidence so far to alter those descriptions.

"Josh and Bobby are going to start sleeping with you - you know - without the sex. Mixing the juices a little, Wolf calls it."

House knew exactly what it meant. Force his body to learn to want them. Force his mind to, eventually, inevitably, succumb to their hated sweat and saliva and semen until he stopped thinking about escape or getting back home. Until his kids no longer mattered, or even Wilson.

House didn't think the evolutionary formula was strong enough. But he couldn't count on that. No way was he going to forget about his children. No way was Wilson or any of the others, going to disappear from his physical radar. "I'll kill them first."

Eli shook his head. He seemed a trifle sad. A sadness born of other than grief over his dead mate. "You won't be able to. We got-"

House stopped listening. Dear god, he remembered now. Anesthetic. They had ether or chloroform; something whereby they could dope him up and he would have no defense against any of it. "You son-of-a-bitches." Drug him, lay their revolting naked flesh against his own nude body, and wait. It was a way to rape without an actual physical rape. It was a rape of chemistry, and enough of a compromise apparently, for his one advocate, Eli, to relinquish his moral stance of No Raping of the New Guy.

House knew he would not be able to induce combative, love negating pain if he was too drugged up to move or even think. There was nothing left but to - "Please don't let them do this."

Eli gathered up the dirty food bowl and left a jug of murky well water for him to drink. He did not look at House.

"Please."

"This is the best thing we could come up with. Something we could all agree on."

House said bitterly, "You forgot to include _me_ in the vote."

Eli walked to the door. "Bobby'll and I'll be back to undress you in an hour and give you a bath." He did seem genuinely sorry about it. But still, he offered no notions of altering the decided upon pseudo-rape.

House lay down on his thin pallet and tried to conjure up fresh images of Wilson and his mates, of his babies, but the pictures were growing more and more elusive. He recognized that just being in the presence of the breath and heat of these men; the pheromones in the air, the draw of his mind and body to the new sire-males had already begun.

House cursed mother nature and her bastard system. Seems earth had washed it hands of the emotional consequences of its own evolutionary programming on its human children.

Sex or bust was now law.

-

-

-

As he had explained, House jerked upright when the door to his bedroom opened and Bobby walked in with a basin of clean water, a bar of soap and some washing rags. House was not even going to be allowed the dignity of washing himself. "Don't fucking touch me!"

Bobby ignored the comment but he looked a little embarrassed over what they were about to do. "This will be easier if your just relax and let it happen, you know."

House really wished Bobby was wrong about that. "Is this how they recruited you?"

Bobby was wringing out the wash cloth. House, though not thrilled about a second sponge bath from the easily dominated blond kid, did look somewhat forward to the feel of the cool water against his dirty skin, made sticky in the sweltering room,

"I told you, Josh saved my life."

House remembered. He just didn't care.

Bobby made with the washing and House tried to imagine that it was Wilson's hands on him instead. But the surge of longing for his home made him quickly shake the images away. They rose up through the hot, still air of the room and disappeared.

Josh joined Bobby in the sweaty room. In his hands was a dry wash cloth and a bottle of clear liquid House swiftly placed as chloroform.

"Get off me! Fuck off!" House snarled and thrashed as violently as his chains would let him. But Josh simply held him down while Bobby, after several attempts, managed to place the cloth over House's mouth and nose.

House held his breath as long as he could but the overwhelming need for air won and he was forced to take a deep breath of the sickly sweet smelling stuff. The evaporating anesthetic entered his lungs and passed rapidly to his blood stream, crossing his blood brain barrier in only seconds. The fight went out of him and House, as though looking at himself from across the room, saw his muscles relax and then limp, and his eyes flutter shut.

House, his mind slowly sinking into sleep, saw his rapists remove the cloth from his mouth, brush his hair with gentle fingers, and lay him down on the mattress.

Strangely fascinated, House watched as they removed the chains from his wrists and ankles, and carefully cleaned the raw places where the harsh metal had rubbed through his epidermis.

House was dimly aware, by the rustle of material, that Josh was removing his clothing. Bobby followed suit and they lay down next to him, each putting their arms around House's limp shoulders and across his rising and falling chest.

"Eli was right." The disgusting man Josh, the leader of the rapists, said next to House's nearly mute left ear. "This is better."

Bobby sighed heavily. "Yeah. We should have done this to start with. Then maybe he wouldn't hate us so much." With his awkward, barely twenty-something hand, Bobby stroked a smooth palm down the flesh of his new BM's abdomen to just below the navel, where his flesh was warmest, Bobby's hand paused. Then, rubbing in small, tender circles just shy of House's penis, "Babies here soon." He whispered.

"He's very stubborn, and older than we were used to, but still. . ." Josh said, stroking House's temple and jaw line, rendering tiny kisses along the side on his throat. "I'd love to fuck him tonight; speed things along."

"Eli says this is better. Besides, we need him."

"I know." Josh stroked House's hair, damp from the heat and the combined moisture of their naked bodies. "So we'll do it this way."

Horrified that the hated man Josh was capable of gentleness, House struggled with his last conscious thought to awaken and fight him and the other off like a rabid animal. But the drug that had coaxed him to sleep was too powerful.

Moreover, to his greater horror, another drug, one of his own making, was gradually awakening in him; like a sleeping creature of the deep that, after a long hibernation, sees sunlight again. Rising, slowly rising from his own flesh, House screamed a cry of protest as his own body thought to betray him. His own willful self would hand him over and happily seal the deal.

As House's sexual drives began to mingle with theirs, he was devastated to have discovered that both men seemed acutely aware of, and even a little sorry for, the physical discomfort and emotional pain they had caused him. Bobby had sounded especially contrite over the methods by which they believed they needed to employ to seduce him, to enforce mutual attraction. To gain his willing sex and eventual love.

House was overcome with the need to scream. Nothing escaped but the stirrings of his Benedict parts, so eager to spread him open to their hungry hands, mouths and penises. House managed one nonsensical, pathetic noise. "N-n-n-n-n-u-u..."

"Shhhhhh." Josh said and kissed his mouth. "Every thing's going to be all right, baby. You're with us now, and we'll take good care of you. You're ours."

"Ours." Bobby mimicked.

What night-time of fleshly events - the slicking of their sweat on his sweat, their many hands on his exposed, helpless skin, and their saliva from mouth to mouth to his mouth - that House knew was to follow, he was only thankful that his mind was at last dropping fully into the dark, and he would not be around to witness them.

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Part IV asap


	4. Chapter 4

REMEMBER ZION

Part IV

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will probably never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

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_The world was a blatantly weird place._

_-_

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Evening chores were done and the goats were in their night-time pen.

It was a good sturdy structure. Foreman and Chase had found plenty of straight, fallen birch in the woods and dragged them home. What they lacked, they had chopped down. Support beams on either side along all four walls of the little construct, and logs in between piled up one on another horizontally until the walls were even and ready for a roof; one just high enough to allow an average man to walk inside if he ducked his head.

More logs were fastened overhead in a lattice formation, a sturdy canvas was tied in place, heavily waxed to help keep out the elements and to preserve it through-out the winter months.

The men had been busy.

Twice more, while summer/fall was still in bloom, two of the men had walked down the lane-way and out of sight for a week at a time, to see if luck might turn and they would find anyone who might know where the party of thieves had taken House, or at least have heard a rumor likewise.

Twice more they had come home, once with a small deer kill to salt-jerk into protein for the winter, but alone otherwise.

October slipped into November and no one looked back up the road anymore.

-

-

Wilson turned over for the tenth time, trying to get comfortable. The men had made the decision to share the largest bed at night. It lessened the feel of loss. For Wilson it eased the pain enough for living, but not for being happy in it.

The kids were one of two reasons he could still get up every day. The men still in his life and the kids they had all helped make from the man who wasn't.

David James was fussing in his crib. Drake for a change was sleeping soundly and had finally put on enough weight that he possessed a healthy plumpness to his tiny features.

Wilson rose quietly, careful not to jostle the bed too much and wake up the others. He found David easily enough. House had painted their names on all their cribs. The hammered together boxes were lined with blankets and set in a row on the far wall of the enormous bedroom, nearest the overhead heating pipe that brought warmth from the coals always kept burning in the upright iron furnace one floor below. The sleep chamber took up a little over one half of the second floor and there was plenty of room for all.

The other bedroom had, not too long ago, been used for when any of the sires had wanted a night alone with House. They usually kept that door closed now, the room largely un-used.

Wilson lifted David out of his bed and cradled him in his arms, pacing back and forth in sock feet. Despite the constantly glowing kitchen coals, the floor got cold at night.

David was the baby sired directly from his own body and House's belly. David looked most like his sire-father though; most like Wilson himself. Almost nothing of House's face had remained in him as he had grown from astonishingly small new-born to a ten pound, fourteen-month old.

But Wilson could swear he saw the whole of, and nothing but, House in the child's personality. David's bright brown eyes, in the dead of the night, were alert and curious - he always looked everywhere. He touched everything. He pulled apart or jammed together anything that his little hands could hold. He was cranky on waking and stubborn going to sleep. He never just looked at a toy or put it in his mouth, he threw them, enjoying the clatter they made as they bounced off the wall or bumped across the wooden floor. He made an angry face if ignored but yet he never wailed. He seemed completely content to sit for hours by himself as long as he had a pile of toys within reach. He gobbled his food with sticky hands if he liked it, and threw it if he didn't, smiling at the funny mess.

Wilson felt closest to House when he held David. It was the time he felt the most at peace and the most in pain. Wilson held David to his shoulder and cried quiet tears as David pulled at his hair and giggled.

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"How's my boy?" As he came in for dinner, Chase reached down and gathered Jordan up in an impulsive hug.

Using two fingers, Chase jiggled the wooden enclosure he had put together for a baby's play area. "That's holding up pretty well." Wilson had requested a sturdy play-pen when the babies had shown signs of becoming more mobile. None of them were crawling yet, but they could sit up, or at least roll over, and a more controlled environment had soon become a necessity.

Chase had outdone himself and had spent hours building and installing a three foot high, wood-lattice playpen that took up fully one half of the living room. The wood he had made certain to sand as smooth as satin so there would be no splinters. He fastened it to the floor with several box-spring fasteners from the garage junk box in strategic spots, so it could not be moved or knocked over by tiny hands. It was the ideal enclosure for six active baby boys.

Jordan tolerated his dad for a few minutes and then began to fuss. Quickly the fuss turned into cries.

Loudly enough to be heard, "They're probably getting hungry." Wilson called from the kitchen.

Chase returned Jordan to his pen and his fussing set off three of the others. Chase rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Sounds like." Out of habit and happen-stance, he helped Wilson with several bowls of carefully prepared baby food.

Wilson and Chase each took two of the hungry children to the couch, propped them up with pillows, and spooned food into their eager mouths.

Foreman sometimes would be in to assist but sometimes not. There was milking to do, and animals to feed, and mucking out of goat pens as well. Chase had trained him well.

Rowan spit out a mouth full and Chase was too slow to catch the dribble. Feeding two at once required deft hands and a watchful eye. Rowan was a quiet baby but he did like to play with his food. Chase said without thinking. "It's sure harder when it's just the three of us."

He sucked in a breath but it was too late to erase the things between the unspoken lines. "Sorry."

Wilson nodded. He ached every day for his vanished mate and sometimes felt the others didn't feel the loss nearly half as badly. But that was unfair. "I don't mind if you want to talk about him." Wilson offered. "You must miss him too."

Chase did, and he knew so did Foreman. But they together understood that, for Wilson, it was so much worse. Wilson and House were not meant to be together as lovers just because chemical programming said so. They were just meant to be together, and that was all.

Chase searched his own feelings. Had he loved House? Yes. He was sure Foreman had too. Had he loved the man against reason, against common sense, against the natural order of things - that being: how does anyone fall in love with a cantankerous jerk? Had he loved House unconditionally? Loved him unquenchably? Had he loved House impractically, imprudently, unreasonably, unmanageably, uncontrollably_, - __unbearably__?_

Uncontainably. Forever. Like Wilson did.

No. So he tried not to talk about House much. He hoped it might ease the pain he and Foreman both knew Wilson lived with every day. Funny, how Wilson had become _House-ish_ in that way. Unrelenting pain that nothing seemed to fix for long. The world was a blatantly weird place.

"Yeah." Chase said and scooped another spoon full of orange mush into Rowan's baby-gooked mouth. "Yeah, I do."

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House almost never went outside after the snow came. The white blanket fell and fell until it smoothed out the haphazard ugliness of the tiny out-buildings, most of them tumbled down from neglect, and the scattered brush left to go wild that made up the front yard's landscaping.

None of these men had green thumbs, though Bobby had attempted to put in a garden. Left to fend for itself, some of the planted things did bravely spring up from the ground. So some nights they had vegetables at dinner. But mostly it was wild greens or winter potatoes and deer meat. Or if Eli's hunting foray's were less successful, porcupine or rabbit. The only saving grace was Bobby's one talent of making almost any meat taste like farm raised beef and chicken.

House had explored the dwelling one day, wandering into the large kitchen while Bobby was stirring sauce in his blackened frying pan. The cupboards were well stocked with spices, enough for many years. Whoever had lived here before, liked their food tasty.

The only other room that held anything of interest was a kind of old fashioned dentists office. Whoever had lived here before had also filled teeth for a living. A countrified dentist's old cupboard contained gauze and needles, vials of chloroform and even a small tank or two of ether. Ethyl alcohol sat in plastic bottles in a single row. Bottles of aspirin and some penicillin tablets made up the rest of the stock.

Compared to Wilson's tiny stash of doctor-ish stuff, it was a bounty. But Josh kept the cupboard locked up. The aspirin would have made no difference in his leg pain anyway. He had detoxed years ago and though some days the pain was still bad, it was no longer crippling.

The one avenue of escape, transport - the motorcycles - that would get him to freedom, Josh kept under lock and key in a metal shed. He probably kept the gasoline locked up somewhere too. House had jiggled the lock on the door once when no one was looking but the lock was big, heavy and solid, and the walls of the shed thick and almost rust-free.

Stealing a motorcycle had been his first thought once he realized how far from home he was. Eli had commented about it one day. Three days ride. That was six hundred miles at least. Even with two good legs, he doubted he could walk that far. And then, which direction?

But the whole place and the people in it, though not home, was made prettier by the snow fall. It could almost feel like home if he ignored the fact that it wasn't. He'd lost track of exactly how many days ago he had been brought here, but he knew the count was now into months. He knew that early summer had turned to early winter and that meant five, possibly six months had elapsed.

The pseudo raping of his chemical self had been accomplished and House felt the indefatigable bond with these men that they had sought. But he fought against it hourly and thus far, despite Josh's blunt insistence and Bobby's inexperienced advances, House had refused their hands or any other part of them on any part of him.

That probably would not be tolerated much longer. For a rapist, six months is a long wait.

Eli had come one night, alone and hat in hand, politely requesting House bed him. House, startled for a minute, had said no, though he had wanted to say yes. He felt the absence of affection just as acutely, and would have welcomed someone's touch, but he wanted to go home and if he was to get there, he had to keep his urges under control. If he grew to really love any part of this place and anyone in it, he was certain thoughts of home would begin to scatter and hide like barn mice.

Resistance was getting harder every day.

Wolf was the only one who never came near him; a puzzle that kept House mentally occupied. Wolf seemed to hold no interest for sex or the daily rituals of socialization. House doubted he slept with any of the other men, though he had certainly heard them often enough at night, grunting and moaning away in the next room.

Eli had been chosen to stay in House's room - House insisting on a second, separate pallet for himself. Eli's presence was to first ensure House stayed put. Whatever other motives they harbored, sexual or otherwise, House didn't care.

Thus far Eli had made no advances toward him but House could swear he felt Eli staring at him some nights from across the room. It was both disconcerting and oddly comforting. At least he wasn't alone all the time.

House occasionally engaged in an exchange of words with Eli and, now and again, Bobby when the loneliness became too much. But inevitably the conversation would drift to sex, and the why-did-he-continued-to-refuse-to-adapt-to-them-when-his-body-had-to-already-done-so questions.

At that juncture House would rapidly end the discussion and escape to another room.

Wolf, though,...

Wolf hardly spoke to anyone. His stuffy diction was hard to follow anyway and, as far as House was concerned, the man had nothing particularly interesting to say.

Wolf never went hunting with Eli or cooked. His chores seemed to amount to straightening the house and washing clothes in the basement with cold water and hand-soap, hanging the articles all over the furniture to dry; and that he didn't do nearly often enough.

As long as Wolf was keeping his paws to himself, House didn't give a damn what he did.

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"Why do you stay with these men?" House asked Eli one day. Eli, easily one of the largest men he had ever met, was also quite gentle and seemed to take great pains to see that everyone was getting enough to eat and was generally happy. House suspected Eli missed taking care of someone. Undoubtedly that would have been Jonesy, Eli's dead BM. Eli's first.

Eli stared at House for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. "Me and J-Jonesy were on the road and we were doing all right, not great. Living on the go can be awfully hard. One day we found a little collection of houses just up the way, but most of them had been looted and some burned. That scared Jonesy, so we came a little further and found this place. After a years travel, it was nice to find a place where we might be able to settle and raise a family."

Eli sighed. "Jonesy liked it here. We never...he and I...we loved each other but having a kid with no place to put down some proper stakes..."

House guessed Eli meant he hadn't bedded Jonesy until they had decided to settle down.

"And besides, Jonesy was only seventeen when I met him. I fell in love with him right away, but,...it wouldn't have been right to bed somebody who was hardly any more than a kid."

Eli had a refined sense of morality. That's why he had stopped the gang rape.

"You may hate Josh and I know he can be a crude buggar, but he and Wolf took us in. A few months later, Bobby showed up on the doorstep, starving, and we took him in."

Eli shrugged. "You know the rest."

House did. He knew that Eli had loved his BM more than the others had, but relinquished sole rights to him, and let the others in; probably a mutual decision between the two. Jonesy must have readily agreed. But the numbers still didn't add up. "Jonesy wasn't conceiving, was he? That's why you convinced him to let the others near. You thought you and he weren't compatible."

Eli nodded. "Not because of me having sour juice I don't think; I had a wife and kids in the old days, but maybe he was just too young to have a baby." Eli seemed to be remembering his love without, for a change, also immediately remembering that his love was dead. "God, he had beautiful eyes." Eli looked at House. "Like yours."

House wondered how many more minutes he had before he would have to cut the conversation short.

"And then he got pregnant. I don't know which of us'd made it happen. Doesn't matter. We were thrilled. But something went wrong..." Eli trailed off, his eyes beginning to water.

House decided to alter the direction of their talk. "I have six children at home."

Eli stared, his mouth open. He stared for a long time. "Six? You have _six_ kids?"

Josh had obviously kept that important fact from Eli. By Eli's reaction, House chastised himself for not bringing it up sooner. This could be his ticket home: guilt Eli into taking him back. "Josh never bothered to mention that, huh?"

Eli whispered, "No."

House waited the proper interval before adding. "I miss them so much, it's killing me."

Eli stared and House could not read a thing behind his dark eyes. He seemed to be struggling. Then, "But the others, your other mates, they'll take care of 'em, won't they? Good care of them, right?"

House was loathe to lie about it. Of course they would. His children would be fine without him. He wasn't sure if the opposite was true. "I hope so." It was close enough to a lie to, he hoped, have the desired effect on the big man. He wanted Eli's tender heart to break for him. He was pretty sure it would earn him a quick one-way piggy-back home with Eli at the wheel.

"But those men, they were good." Eli questioned House's honesty. It had been obvious that Wilson and the others were good men. Eli had seen that as clearly as spring water.

House had played his best sympathy card and Eli wasn't biting. "But they're my kids. I need them."

"_We_ need you."

Shit.

"I n-need you." Eli stammered, suddenly he was a little choked up.

House stared, puzzled as hell by the man's unexpected response. "You don't--"

"Yes. Yes, I'm, I'm..." Eli's eyes softened a thousand times as he looked back. "-I, ...I _love_ you." Eli said. "I want you to stay."

The buffeting wind of love had blown the cards right off the table.

-

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One night, while Eli was on a hunt, House's bedroom door opened and Josh entered without warning.

House already felt violated. Josh had never done that since the attempted rape. "Get out." He said.

Josh, his face the only thing illuminated by the candle sitting on a plate, looked at him lustfully. He was not even angry, but he was drunk on the moonshine he and Wolf regularly brewed in one of the out-buildings. House knew booze had one universal effect on the male libido; it swelled it all out of proportion to the male's ability to utilize it. Josh seemed no exception to the rule.

"I can't wait no more." He said, his words slightly slurred. "You're driving me crazy. Just being around you,...I'm hard all the time."

Charming.

"I can't wait no more for you to say yes." Josh advanced.

House knew in a fight, he would lose. His leg guaranteed that. During the daylight hours, he was allowed a cane, but at night it was taken away less he get the idea in his head to bonk his captors on their skulls while they slept. Considering they knew how he felt about them, it was a reasonable caution.

Josh was naked and set the candle down on the floor by the wall. He staggered a little and, before House had enough time to struggle to his feet on his one good and one bad leg, Josh all but toppled onto House like a felled tree, wrapping his flabby arms around him. House struggled to get free but Josh had real muscle underneath all that fat and held on tight. Evidently he knew enough about sire/BM bonding to know all he had to do was wait until the chemical storm invaded House's cells and set up shop, whoring him to anyone with the right equipment.

House knew it too and so he fought all the harder. "Get the fuck off me. Get off!"

Josh just held on until House went limp from exertion. The need to be touched was overwhelming. The desire to just let it happen and the proximity and hardness of Josh's penis against his own genitals was intoxicating. After a few minutes, House felt more wonderful than he had felt in months. Even the leg pain receded in the haze of submissive lust he was experiencing. He laughed at the object of his body's cravings.

Josh mistook the laugh for happy compliance and began kissing him. House tried desperately not to kiss back, not to let Josh stroke his skin with his calloused hands, not to enjoy those hands on him, not to allow him access to every other part of him and hurry up about it.

House tried so very hard not to spread his legs for Josh and wrap them around him back.

But instead he did all those things, and Josh, shaking with months of unrequited lust, shoved his cock inside House with a single thrust, moaning low and long. "Oh, god, baby. I'm going to so fuck you up sweet."

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Part V asap


	5. Chapter 5

REMEMBER ZION

Part V

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will probably never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

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_He ate at the same table with the devil and the devil's agents, and hell was no place to fall in love._

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House felt the flabby weight of Josh's gut pressing down on him and though, as infuriating as it was, he also felt physically wonderful, sucking in every minute of the physical contact. In his right mind, he would have truly hated that it was Josh that was making him feel so good.

The fat man jerked himself up and down on House, thrusting in and out, until he reached the pinnical of a long awaited climax. Shuddering, Josh groaned and twitched, emptying his balls in a flood to his breeder's steaming insides, humping hard and fast, planting excited kisses on House's naked shoulder. "O-o-o-o-o-h, my fucking _GOD!"_Josh growled into his ear. "I'll bet your pregnant now." He hissed, still in the fever of orgasm. "I'll bet you'll be swelling by morning, you tight-ass. You _tasty_, goddamn fuck."

House heard nothing. He just wanted the fucking to go on and on. He was floating in delicious pain-free sensations; he felt warm and sexy and loved and wonderful when a man was in him. Mostly he was _anywhere_ in his mind but in this shitty place, with this son-of-a-lousy-cock on top of him, pumping away.

Abruptly it was over. Josh had shot his fluid inside House's body, slumped bonelessly, gasping for air, then rolled off. A short minute later, judging by the snoring that erupted almost immediately, he had fallen asleep. The bastard didn't even bother to clean himself or offer House a rag.

House lay there for a minute, feeling the sexual, mind-stealing high dissipate away into the sweltering night like swamp gas. His cells exudated the hormones that pulled his sexual strings - his evil puppet-master. The strings that pulled this way and that, spreading his legs and having him happily give it up to a man he thoroughly hated.

In a mere moment, House's own sound mind creeped back home. He lay there for a few minutes hating himself for inviting in the man's poisonous cock in the first place. Soon, House's self-will also slunk home with its tail between its dirty legs, whining for forgiveness.

His eyes wet, House felt a mental sickness over his situation spreading in his body like an infection, rapidly supplanting the delighted, compliant, mindless breed-whore who had just departed. That he had allowed Josh's grabbing hands on him and his presumptuous penis in him, turned his stomach twice over. And then again.

House suddenly remembered something. It was a thought important enough to get him up off the mattress and moving with a purpose. Cursing the chemical dictates of his breeder body, he struggled to his feet and gathered up the still flickering candle. Closing the door softly so as not to wake his rapist, in the hallway he drained some of the melted wax on the hard wood floor and the candle flame grew higher. _One of them can clean it up._

He now had enough light for his covert operation.

The idea had come to him almost immediately. His self-will and mind might fly the coop during sex, but at least it came back intact. As good an idea as it was, it would still be an unequal payback for Josh forcing his gross spooge on him without permission.

Using the walls for support, House made his way on silent feet down the stairs and to the old dentist's office in near darkness, quickly locating the object of his memory. He looked into the locked medicine cabinet.

Tall, glass bottles stood in a row like waiting soldiers, ready to serve.

Each had a label:_ C2H50H. _

Ethyl alcohol.

Bringing the candle close to the glass windows of the six foot high cabinet, House counted five six hundred milliliter bottles in total. But the double glass doors had a pad lock and he did not want to break the glass. Not only might that draw someone's attention, he wanted to ensure that he could repeat his decided upon procedure when necessary.

Plus he had a serious time constraint. Only minutes really. Spermatozoa were energetic little pricks.

House set the candle on a nearby counter. Chipped, yellow laminate betrayed the house's age. The old brown vinyl dentist's chair, bolted to the floor, hinted at pleasant days gone by replete with polite chit-chat and after-shave.

House pushed the cabinet away from the wall, being careful to do so in bits and starts so not to jostle the glass containers inside. A broken one would alert Josh or Wolf to his secretive night time foray. The back of the cabinet was made with quality wood, but it was thin and held against it's host cabinet with tiny carpenter finishing nails. House glanced around. There was nothing on the counters that would serve. He opened a few drawers and came upon an old fashioned straight razor. Dull as Wolf's company, but sufficiently useful for his needs.

Firmly holding the edge of the rusty razor, he wedged it in between the joint of the cabinet's side and its thin wood backing. Working slowly from the top down, the tiny nails were wedged apart and soon gave up their grasp. The cabinet's back came away an inch or so. Working slowly, House managed to work the back off enough that he could slip his hand inside and take one of the bottles containing his prize. He spaced the others out a little so that section of the shelf still looked full, and hoped liked hell no one but him knew how to count.

Pushing the cabinet back firmly in place again with short, sharp pressings of the heel of his hand - he dared not hammer - it was done. Not perfect but it looked together enough that no one ought to notice the tampering. Maneuvering the cupboard back in place against the wall, he made sure there were no scrape marks on the old linoleum. Everything appeared undisturbed.

House twisted the cap off the bottle and sniffed, ensuring the liquid inside was what the label said it was. Only half the battle was won. He needed a delivery device. Again quietly rifling through the drawers, House was frustrated to come up with nothing suitable. But...

...did the people who used to live here eat Christmas turkey?

House limped quickly to the kitchen and started opening drawers. The fourth one, a large roomy one near the floor, was filled with long forgotten, unused cooking utensils. House pushed aside a hand grater, a pastry cutter and other implements of a mother's Sunday baking. Then, lying on the bottom like a jewel, he found it - a turkey baster. It was a good, solid glass one, so it would not deteriorate with repeated use.

House returned to the dentist's office and, using the rubber suction-cup in reverse, carefully filled the baster with a few ounces of the highly acidic alcohol.

House climbed into the dentist chair, musing that the original owner probably never imagined it would some day be used as a birth-control facilitator. House spit on the narrow glass end of the baster to give it some lubrication and very slowly worked it through the ring of his anal sphincter muscle and into his rectum. As deeply as it would safely go, he gently pushed until the end of it encountered the first S curve in his sigmoid colon, where he was forced to stop. House pulled back a millimeter or two. He didn't want a rupture.

But it was far enough. It was adjacent to the spermal canal, that most frustrating evolutionary mutation, protected by a one way fleshly cap made up of protective proteins that allowed only semen and sperm to enter his body but nothing else. That canal was the first road on the male map to pregnancy.

House slowly depressed the rubber cap until it was empty. He could feel the stinging wash of the alcohol as it filled and, hopefully, annihilated every last member of Josh's demon seed. House envisioned the invader's, who thrived in a Ph environment, screaming, drowning - dissolving alive in the toxic, killing flood.

House clenched his muscles, holding the home-made spermicide in for as long as could, until he began to sweat and felt a cramp starting, then he relaxed. Most of the alcohol dribbled out, bringing with it bowel mucus and, House, hoped, the sperm-dead semen.

House repeated the procedure one more time then, with a tea towel from the kitchen, cleaned himself and the chair seat off. Next, he rinsed out the baster by twice dribbling a bit more of the alcohol into the narrow opening, shaking it up and letting it run down the sink.

He had used only about one-tenth of the bottle. It ought to be enough. House did a quick, mental calculation. Since he figured Eli would probably never participate in a rape, and Wolf would unlikely ever touch him, and Bobby, well, he had no idea what Bobby's plans were, but so far he seemed too insecure to insist on any with him. House could easily over-power Bobby anyway, though Josh might decide to lend his little mate a helping hand in rape. You never knew.

However, assuming that only Josh would force himself on him maybe twice a week, House figured the alcohol would last him quite a while. Five six-hundred milliliter bottles ought to give him forty applications in all.

Twenty weeks. Five months. With luck, it would get him through the winter.

House sniffed. There was left a somewhat disagreeable odor of antiseptic and bowel in the room but he hoped that would dissipate by morning. In fact -

House lifted one of the old fashioned windows a couple of inches and let in some of the night's cold, winter breeze until he could smell nothing but fresh air. Closing the window, he hid the towel, baster and the alcohol deep in the back of one of the lower cupboards beneath the sink, behind some rusty canisters of hair spray.

House made his way quietly back up the stairs. The night-time mission had tired him out, and he looked forward to some sleep, even it had to be in the same bed as the hated Josh. House comforted himself by remembering that, when the first bottle was used up, he planned on filling it with water and replacing it, going through all five, replacing each one so nothing looked disturbed or out of place.

Hopefully no one would accidentally chop his foot off with an ax and require a wound cleaner. On the other hand, if they all chopped themselves in the foot, House would suddenly forget everything he learned about medicine and stand by watching as they bled to death. Except for maybe Eli. And perhaps Bobby. So far, at least since that first night of the chemical invasion by he and Josh, Bobby had kept his hands to himself. And Eli had remained a gentleman since day one.

Laying down again, House wrapped himself up in the welcoming quilts and turned over. He wanted to put his back, and as much cold space as possible, between himself and Josh. He would rather have slept in the barn but it was uncomfortable out there. It was also, now that it was nearing the end of November, very cold out at night.

Besides, he wanted to lull these men into thinking he was now content to stay. But, beyond those times where one of his captors forced themselves on him, and the heady rush of his body's chemistry stirred in him the uncontrollable urge to fuck, House wanted nothing to do with any of them.

In the meantime, if he was powerless to deny them sex, he could at least deny them the reward. No pregnancies ever.

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Foreman helped Wilson finish up the dishes.

Chase spent a good half an hour carrying the babies up the stairs to the large bedroom and tucking them in. Two were still fussing but in a house-hold of six children, indulging fussiness, unless it pertained to wet-diaper, empty-belly or an acute need for affection, was not in the register. He knew the babies would soon drift off to sleep on their own.

Foreman dried his hands on the tea towel and hung it over the stove-handle. Standing is such close proximity to his mate, whom he had not been near for quite some time, sparked in him the urge for a quick bit of sex. Foreman shuffled a bit closer and slid a well muscled arm around Wilson's waist as Wilson continued to carefully put away the plates. Several already had cracks and they all had to take steps not to break any. Dishes and cutlery were in limited supply and there wasn't exactly a Walmart anywhere in the neighborhood.

"Hey." Foreman took Wilson's chin and laid a passionate kiss on him. Wilson returned the kiss then, with a small smile, stepped away. Foreman felt let down when Wilson, instead of reading his mate's silent appeal for affection and climbing the stairs to the bedroom, walked into the living room and sat on the couch. Picking up a magazine he had looked at a zillion times, he turned the pages.

Foreman guessed what was really in front of his eyes, though. Pictures of the vanished.

Foreman and Chase had left Wilson alone, in the sexual sense, for many weeks after House's abduction. Both had quickly come to accept there was very little hope that House would be returned to them anytime soon with apologies from his captors. Not Wilson however.

House was gone and Wilson had yet to really accept that fact and try to move forward. He talked a good game but walked and acted as though the air had been let out of him. He was a thin hollow, almost empty version of the old Wilson. The House-still-present-and-accounted-for Wilson. His behavior was worrisome.

Foreman decided not to let Wilson's benign rejection of his affections rest this time. It was not healthy. It was not normal and it had to change. He and Chase had talked about it until Chase was fed to the teeth over the endless What-to-do's?

_"Just leave him alone." _Had been Chase's final word on the matter. _"If he doesn't want to sleep with us, leave him be."_

But Foreman was a man of action and refused to just stand back and watch Wilson slip into a perpetual, solitary state of asexual mourning.

"Wilson?" He sat beside him and placed work-thickened fingers on his mate's left thigh, gently stroking him seductively. "Hey. I want you. I _need_ you tonight."

Wilson appeared almost confused by his request. "Where's Chase?"

Foreman sighed. "Putting the kids to bed. I want _you_ I said." Foreman kissed him. "I miss you, man."

Wilson smiled politely. "I don't think I'm ready yet."

To Foreman's frustration, it was Wilson's standard answer. Only Wilson have never disclosed what "ready" was suppose to mean. Ready to forget House? Ready to try and move on? Ready to settle for Foreman and Chase? Second best? The B Team? "This isn't healthy, Wilson."

"I'm a doctor, too, you know." Wilson said, his voice getting high and tight, a sure sign this conversation was going to go exactly nowhere, just like all the others.

Foreman captured Wilson's chin firmly in his left fingers. "Wilson." It was time to say what he and Chase had all this time avoided saying in order to spare Wilson's broken heart. "He's _gone_."

Wilson looked like he'd been slapped. "You don't know that for sure. He could be-"

Foreman listened to Wilson's ready-made rationalizations for why House had not come back. To Wilson it seemed that, if he believed House was alive, then somehow, someday, he would be able to escape and find his way back; he would _be_ alive.

But, by its nature, fantasy ignored certain probabilities; that House did not know where he was and, even if he did, he had no means of getting back because walking was out; or, even worse, that House was already dead.

Foreman took Wilson's head between his hands and tried to drive some sense into him. "Wilson, it's been five months. We all loved him, but there's nothing we can do. You have to move on." Foreman tried to kiss him and Wilson shoved him away, furious at his mate's denial, and therefore betrayal, of the life of their precious breed mate.

"You two can give up if you want to. As soon as spring comes, I'm going to go find him - even if I have to walk five states over."

Brave, foolhardy talk. "What about the kids? _House's_ kids? What about me and Chase? Don't _we_ mean anything?"

Wilson walked away from his sensible partner and leaned against the far living room wall, crossing his arms. "Of course, but...we'll figure something out." His steps had stirred the fine ash from the poorly filtered iron heater that settled on every flat surface, and made a faint trail between himself and Foreman.

Foreman closed the gap. "I know how you felt about him." He wrapped his arms around Wilson who stubbornly refused to uncross his. "We need you here, baby, with _us_."

Wilson shrugged Foreman off angrily and tried to walk away but Foreman pushed him against the wall, more harshly than he intended. "House is _gone!_ He's probably dead." Foreman hated to be cruel but it had to be said. "The sooner you accept that, the better off you'll be."

Wilson stared at him, breathing hard and fast at the words no one had dared say until now. He could not process the thought that House was gone forever. And dead was simple inadmissible.

"If I had a grave site or, or a b-body..." Wilson could not finish the sentence. He knew he was reverting to the same desperate arguments again and again. He couldn't help it. Most days he wanted to die. "I don't think,...I don't think I'm going to make it without him." He whispered, trying not to look at the sadness on his mate's dark, handsome face. Wilson shook his head, thoroughly defeated by the yawning hole of longing that was swallowing him bit by bit. "Write him off if you want to. I _can't. _I'm sorry."

Foreman sagged against the wall as Wilson climbed the stairs to bed. It wasn't a happy home anymore.

How upside-down it was that, when the cantankerous jerk was around, things had been relatively peaceful - even happy. But, now that House was gone, as a family they were unraveling and, in Wilson's case, being driven apart by grief.

Foreman sighed. Yeah, he missed House too. He had relished making love to him. He loved the way his breed mate had felt and smelled, and the way House would wrap his long legs around his back while he fucked him for hours. He had especially adored seeing House pregnant and showing, and that he had been able to assist in the birth of each of their children. Even House's cranky complaining, Foreman realized now, he had come to accept as an endearing part of the complex whole. He had come to love House very much for what he'd brought into their lives in the mostly stinking world as it now was. He himself had fought for that life, protected it, nurtured it, and highly treasured all of it.

But House was gone now. Very probably dead. Foreman had been forced to come to terms with it. He'd _had_ to because Wilson had refused to do the same, and they all had to survive and live well for their kids.

Foreman suddenly felt very lonely and climbed the stairs after his angry mate. Maybe Chase was in the mood.

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Wolf dropped the entire jug of well water and it washed into every corner of the kitchen. "Shid!" He spat at the sudden mess before him.

House watched as the quiet, weird one fetched a broom and did his best to sweep the majority of the liquid to the back door and out onto the snow-covered porch. By morning there would be a water-fed glacier on the back steps. Bobby tossed Wolf a towel and Wolf spent many minutes soaking up the remainder and wringing the sopping thing into the sink over and over.

House thought the floor had never looked cleaner. Wolf was a klutz. He was always stuffed up and hardly ever ate. Puzzling over his weirdness was one of House's only diversions.

Josh entered the kitchen and sat down at the table. "Eli and me trapped a wild pig today." He announced. "Got it locked up in the shed." He began to eat the stew Bobby was busy slopping on each man's plate. Some dry flat bread made up the remainder of the meal.

"We'll butcher it tomorrow." Josh finished and started shoveling.

House ate the stew, which was quite good, but the bread was hard as a rock and he was certain he smelled mold on the bottom of his. Without asking, Wolf snatched the abandoned bread for his own plate.

Suddenly Josh looked over at House. "Anything?" He asked.

House immediately blushed and felt unbridled fury at Josh's very public question. The fury he managed to contain. The embarrassed shade he turned he could do nothing about. He shook his head as little as possible. Once.

No one at the table commented but everyone understood what of Josh spoke. The entire house-hold would have heard the shameless grunting and panting coming from House's bedroom as Josh quenched his lust in him a few nights previous.

Josh wanted to know if House was pregnant.

House had done the midnight alcohol run right after of course, and put a stop to any such consequence of that physical encounter too, like he had done after each of Josh's night time visits.

House stared at his food, trying to affect on his face the proper mix of sad but content. He was not sure if he succeeded in appearing anything other than thoroughly irritated.

Josh winked at House and House ignored him. Bobby looked depressed. He had stopped asking for his turn at House and Josh seemed just fine with that. Josh appeared to enjoy having House all to himself. Since was the leader, he no doubt thought it was fitting.

Eli entered from the back porch and stopped when he saw Wolf down on the floor wiping up the last of the water. He chuckled. "Wolf, you poor, clumsy fool." But he took a second towel, and helpfully bent down to assist in the final clean up.

House always felt just a little bit safer when Eli was around, though he had thus far rejected every one of Eli's advances. Not because the man was ugly or that Josh was somehow, very laughably, his preference, but because he was already being bedded by one of the men and if he wanted his alcohol spermicide enemas to last the winter, the fewer dicks that planted their DNA in him, the fewer chances of pregnancy. He was already on alcohol bottle number two and it had only been three and a half weeks. Josh's demands for sex had come more frequently than he had anticipated.

While he ate, House contemplated other sources of home-grown sperm annihilation. There was always animal dung. Gross but high in acid content. Or he could burn the house down while they all slept and kill all the tiny rotaries in one shot.

But he didn't really want to hurt Eli or Bobby. And it was cold out. And he had no realistic way to survive the winter without Josh and the Gang-Bangers.

If all else failed, he mused, he could always perform a Androplacentoectomy on himself. House smiled; just a twitch at the corner of his lip. The whole book on male reproduction needed to be revised. But one well-placed incision and he could slice away the damnable placental wall. He doubted he would survive such an operation, if he could even perform it on himself and not have a heart attack from the pain or bleed to death before he finished.

Either way, though, worst case scenario - his problems would be over.

Eli scooped himself a hearty serving of stew and pulled a chair up to the table. He ate quietly and pretended to be content with things as they were, much like House pretended.

But House could feel them whenever Eli's eyes looked his way. Ever since Eli's confession of love, House had tried to avoid the man as much as possible but it was difficult when living under the same roof. And it was equally difficult since Eli was the one man House felt he could trust not to hurt him. Even protect him if he needed it.

Whenever in House's presence, Eli would spend hours darting glances full of sad tenderness his way. To House's irritation and grudging affection, Eli was like a loyal dog with a tail wagging and hungry eyes to make your heart break.

House had occasionally found his body stirring for Eli's touch, though he said nothing-whatever about it to Eli. House believed this man at least would have included him in the love-making and not treat him like a convenient, bought-and-paid-for diddle toy. But when those warm feelings came, and they always arrived when he least expected them, every time House would clamped down hard and drive them back.

Feelings like the ones he was experiencing now, dammit! House did his best to ignore the big guy, keeping his head down, picking over the remnants of his food. He ate at the same table with the devil and the devil's agents, and hell was no place to fall in love.

Eli ate his stew hungrily and stared at House with hopeless longing.

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Part VI asap


	6. Chapter 6

REMEMBER ZION

Part VIf

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will probably never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

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_Modern love wasn't only of the flesh._

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"Josh."

Josh looked up from his oily rag with which he was carefully wiping tarry gook from the inside of a small carburetor. He was seated at the old dentist's counter on a small stool, making busy work for his hands.

Eli turned the vinyl dentist chair around to face him and perched on the edge of it. It gave him the appearance of a man even more of a giant than usual. "You lied to me about our new breeder. What else are you lying to me about?"

Josh knew better than to deny a lie, if there was one. "I didn't think it was important." A lie of omission.

Eli shook his head at the reasoning of his perplexing mate. "You think taking him away from his six children wasn't important? I mean, kids, six little babies - there's nothing _more_ important."

Josh seemed unfazed by his heartless act. "Those kids have three other guys to care for them. We don't even have kids yet, and I want some."

It was the only legacy left. Eli knew that. And he understood Josh's desperate, if cold-hearted, act. But that didn't make it any more right. "We have to take him back."

Josh furrowed his eyebrows at that. "There's no chance in hell I'm taking my new breeder back. He's probably carrying for me right now. No way. Not ever." His tone said with no uncertainty that his mind was made up.

Eli was the largest of the men but he did not inspire the loyalty of all. Wolf was Josh's right and left hand man. Bobby was his adoring orphan whom they all had rescued, and whom Josh had fussed over and made love to until the kid was his number one fan.

Jonesy had belonged to himself, and Eli's chest tightened at the thought of him.

The man House, their new baby-maker of the marvelously blue eyes and tender underbelly, was supposed to belong to all of them. Josh had taken his prize and all manner of groans and grunts in the adjoining room on a regular basis belonged to him.

Bobby, Eli knew, lusted after the breeder but would never dare cross Josh whom he loved even more. And Wolf, he never showed any particular interest in anything but eating and hunting. Years ago he and Josh, according to Josh, had been lovers but that had ended over a year ago.

In himself, Eli felt the stirrings of a love winding its tendrils ever deeper inside his heart. The more time he spent in House's presence, the more protective he felt towards him. One day he made the mistake of calling him Greg but had been swiftly rebuked.

They were House's captors and Eli recognized that though his flesh accommodated Josh beyond its own will and reason, House was probably never going to come to love any of them. And that dagger cut Eli to his tender bits. He found himself more and more in love with House every day. And in lust. Whenever House brushed by too close to his body, or anytime he smelled House's skin after fresh wash, it nearly drove him crazy. He would make an excuse to leave the room and try to get his rutting libido under control out of sight of the others.

Often Eli found himself alone in the barn, jacking off to thoughts of House beneath him, moaning his name and squeezing his cock with all his might. Eli imagined those long, beautifully muscled legs clamping around him and never letting go, begging for him to fuck harder, deeper, to pour into him and fill him up. Whimper to him and say please, please... _please fuck me, Eli. Please, oh god, fuck me harder - harder! I want your cock so badly. Knock me up. I want your cum inside me. I want to give it to you. Make a baby. Make me a thousand. . ._

Eli felt the hardness grow between his legs with just the thought of House's hole and lips, and those shining blue irises, watering with endless need for _him._ It soon became uncomfortable to any longer sit and talk to Josh about the object of his deepest feelings or his driving lusts. "This is wrong, Josh, and you know it. There are some things even in this world you don't do, and taking a birth-dad away from his babies is one of them."

Josh watched his mate carefully. When he spoke, it was so neutral that Eli didn't fail to hear the warning in it. "And what are you planning to do about it?"

Eli stared at him. He wanted to do a lot of things. There was almost nothing he could do. But he was not without power. "I'm just going to make sure he's treated right. That's all."

Josh answered without looking up. "I'll treat him right." Josh said. "As long as he treats me right."

Eli left his leader, halting when he saw that House was seated at the kitchen table. Blushing because House must have overheard nearly everything he and Josh had just said to each other, Eli hurried on by without a word, his face hot with embarrassment.

Josh called Wolf in from the back yard. After his largest mate had walked away, his shorter, much thinner, mate entered the back door. An icy breeze of winter air entered with him.

"What are you doing out there?"

Wolf wiped the run-off from his nose on a sleeve. "Meld'n wadd'r."

Josh knew that meant Wolf had been tightly packing snow into many buckets for leaving near the heat of the stove, for the melting of it into fresh water. Josh handed him the cleaned up carburetor. "Try this out. I think all it needed was a good cleaning."

Wolf nodded, then sniffed the air. "Sm'llz lige dog shid in 'ere."

Josh raised an eyebrow. "OH? I don't smell anything."

Wolf sniffed again, his face crinkling from the pungency. "R'lly _stiggs!"_

Josh could detect no stink at all. "Well," He mused aloud, "That's why we call you Wolf now, isn't it?"

Wolf took the device from Josh and said nothing more, heading out to the shed to repair one of the broken down motorcycles, though spring and riding weather were still a long way off.

A softly walking pair of socked feet hurried out of the kitchen and in the opposite direction of Josh.

House sat down near the warmth of the corner black pot fireplace to soak up the heat and think.

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"David has a fever."

Foreman shrugged off the shaking hand and the urgent whisper in the night.

He opened one eye. It was Wilson.

"Foreman, I said David has a _fever_."

Foreman was instantly awake. He sat up, letting the quilts fall away. "How bad?"

"Close to a hundred, maybe. Can't be sure without the thermometer."

Foreman got to his feet. Chase slept on and Foreman decided it not to wake Chase. Not only had Chase done the lion's share of chores yesterday, Foreman had kept him up an extra hour with some heavy sex. It was pointless to wake him anyway. Two people could handle one sick baby. "How long has he been like this?"

Wilson shook his head and then remembered that Foreman couldn't really see him in the semi-dark. "I'm not sure. I felt him when I put him to bed and he seemed a little warm but not unusually. Then he wiggled out of his socks..."

Foreman recognized Wilson's meaning. At least once every night one of them had to check on David. He was notorious for rubbing his feet until his socks came off. He also hated bibs and would grab at them constantly while being fed. He was fidgety and a shameless nudist.

Foreman lit a candle. "So a couple of hours?"

Wilson nodded.

Foreman checked on his son. Technically Wilson and House's son, but he belonged to them all. The one year old was very warm, and Foreman could detect the smallest tremble in his limbs.

"Sorry I had to wake you."

Wilson was close, right next to him in the night, their torso's touching. That didn't happen much anymore. "Come on." Foreman gathered David up in his arms, wrapping his son in the blanket. "Let's get him to the kitchen. It's warmer there." There was also lots of candles in holders to provide more light.

With a rag, Foreman opened the fire-hot, slotted door of the iron furnace to let the orange light of the fire illuminate the room a little more. Wilson lit every candle he could find.

Foreman turned David on his stomach, pulled down the urine sopping cloth diaper, and gently inserted the thermometer into David's rectum. After a moment, he checked his son's temperature under candlelight, making sure to hold the mercury bulb well away from its hot flame. "Not quite ninety-eight." A temperature, but not a terrific one. In the cool of the kitchen, out from beneath the thick wool blankets of his crib, the baby's skin felt a little cooler. Foreman hoped that was a good sign.

Suddenly David scrunched up his face and sneezed, sending a shower of baby spit and nasal mucus all over his two dads. Neither cared about the gross mess, the relief that they now knew what was wrong with their son more than made up for it.

"He has a cold." Foreman said to Wilson.

Wilson blew out a stale lung full of air. "Probably a little dehydrated. I'll heat up some formula, heavy on the water."

Foreman sat, cradling David in his arms, wiping his tiny nose with a clean dish rag. In the meantime, the baby seemed content to drift off to sleep. Foreman chuckled. "Imagine if House were here."

Since just after Christmas, their first celebrated in their new life on the farm without House present, Foreman had stopped censoring his word usage around Wilson, and so had Chase. They spoke freely about House and regularly shared memories both good and bad. It seemed to have the surprising effect of gradually bringing Wilson out of his terrible depression over the loss of his closest and most cherished mate.

Maybe it had been the idea of death and re-birth, Foreman mused - if Wilson believed in that sort of thing. He recalled Wilson lighting nine candles every day for eight days, and assumed it had held some sort of Jewish religious meaning. When asked, Wilson had simply explained it as: "For some Jews of the world, it was part of the Chanuka celebration of re-birth or re-affirmation. A miracle, a light-giving oil that continued to burn when it should have already been used up." Wilson had looked sheepish. "I guess it's kind of stupid."

Foreman had assured him that it wasn't. He too wished, however unlikely it might be, that House was living on somewhere.

Foreman had never been religious despite his parent's - particularly his minister father's Christian faith, but he assumed the Chanuka was similar to that religion's belief in the immortality of the soul, and the Hindu belief of eternal reincarnation.

Whatever its significance, Foreman only hoped it had brought Wilson some comfort at last.

"House would have called us idiots." Foreman said, turning his mind back to more current events. "And then he'd start a differential to find the mystery illness." He added, softly laughing, "He'd probably be injecting David's snot up his nose right now, to see if he got infected. And I'd probably end up having to donate a lung to save his ass."

Wilson stirred the formula and smiled in the dark. In spite of himself, in spite that he still felt the terrible loss and the physical longing whenever he thought of House, he had started to rise from the hopeless denial that House was coming back. He was finally starting to live again, and not only for Foreman, Chase and the kids, but for himself. "

Foreman was delighted to see Wilson talk about House without withdrawing into a zombied silence or bury his tears in work. It was good to see.

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Winter was slowly losing it's steel grip on the land and spring was hinting at its fresh arrival with melted patches of snow revealing brown grass, and thickening mud where-ever the grass didn't grow.

One night in mid-April, once Josh had taken his sweating pleasure of him, House used his very last home-made spermicidal preparation.

The next day he began to spurn Josh's advances, snarling like a wild cat whenever Josh came near, and jamming a chair against his door that night to keep him out.

Josh was at first merely perplexed and confided in Eli who, naturally, encouraged him to be patient.

But after weeks, House heard Josh at his door one night. This time it was no polite knock, it was a pounding fist that said he meant business. "Let me in."

"Screw off." House said back, not bothering to rise from his bed. He was flipping through an old book on motor-repair and was growing impatient with the fat man's impatience. House added, "You couldn't manage a knock-up even if all you had to screw was a _ceiling_."

The door began shaking from the pounding. Then the pounding changed. It was no longer a fist, but a body; probably Josh's shoulder, House guessed, crashing against the thick oak over and over. It seemed like it was going to hold until . . .

Cra-a-a-ck! The back of the wood chair splintered and the door popped open, slamming against the wall. The handle left a dent the size of a fist.

Josh wasn't alone. He had brought muscle with him. Wolf looked down at House with his customary expressionless face.

Josh stood there, sweating. He drew a frustrated hand down his face. "I don't know why suddenly you're being so contrary. You haven't refused me in months."

House gave him a look that said in no uncertain terms that those days were over. "Can't help it if my sex chemistry is all wonky." House lied. There was nothing wrong with his sexual cellular programming, but there was everything wrong with Josh. "I think they went blind and mistook you for attractive."

Josh jerked his head at Wolf who closed the door and slipped a screwdriver in between the door edge and the frame, making an effective, if temporary, lock. No one else was going to get in.

For the first time since the evening began, House felt an old fear return. Josh had not raped him since that first attempt which Eli had thankfully thwarted. But Eli was away on a hunt.

House cursed himself that he had not thought of jamming a bolt or something in the door just as Wolf had done for those nights where Eli was absent and he was therefore left alone and unprotected by his gentle, sumo-sized, BM loving bull-dog.

Josh approached and Wolf tailed directly behind him. "You're going to give me what you're supposed to."

House looked around for something to fight him off with, but he was still allowed no cane at night or at anytime without supervision. Josh was nothing if not paranoid.

House then noticed the rope Wolf had brought with him. The two of them leaped on House, many hands held his wrists tightly and tore at his thread-bare jeans and tee-shirt until he was divested of all clothing. Then he was expertly tied face-down to all four bed posts and immobile. It had been a brief struggle.

As Josh shed his clothes, Wolf re-checked the knots at House's four extremities. House felt Josh crawling onto the bed as Wolf left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Josh said, "You may as well relax and enjoy it, sweets, I got a full pair and I'm going to fuck you a few times to make up for the two weeks you made me wait."

House felt Josh's ice cold hands on his butt cheeks, spreading them and kneading them. "M-m-m-m-m-, _fuck_, you're so damn fine. Those perfect balls, cock and ass, all mine. All just for me."

Josh didn't even bother with his usual goose grease, he just spit on his fingers and spread it around House's anus, then maneuvered himself into the right spot, rapidly shoving his erect penis into House with little warning or savior Farr. An extended moan erupted behind him. "O-o-o-o-o-o-h."

House arched his back at the sharp, roughness of it. "You goddamn prick!"

It hurt this time. It, unfortunately felt also good and, as usual, House knew it was going to feel even better in a minute or two. Presently though, his ass burned from Josh's lack of proper preparation of him in the strictly physical intercourse sense.

Josh ignored the complaints of his breeder and slowly began to thrust and grind. "I'm going to enjoy this." Josh thrust into him hard and House gasped, his whole body and the bed moving along with Josh's violent rhythm. It still hurt but it was starting not to. His flesh was riding fast and blaring its horn. Benedict was back. "Fuck!"

Josh mistook House's frustration for a an expletive of pleasure. "Don't worry. I got about a gallon in me, and I'm pumping it all into you, baby. I'm going to fuck you to the moon."

He pumped faster and faster, whispering in House's ear. "I'm getting you pregnant this time, believe me. You are going to wake up tomorrow with that sweet little belly swelling up all lovely and tender."

House soon lost the fight for his mind and will, sinking into a soothing sensations of Lake Hormones. A welcoming haze of sensual warmth and belonging seeped into every cell in his body until his brain was pruned with them. After a few minutes he forgot the face, the moral slime, even the name of the man who was raping him.

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Josh asked House a few days later. "Anything?"

House had been unable to rise and take care to flush out Josh's worms with a good dose of wild hog piss or pine-needle juice, both alternatives he had been contemplating concocting up when he could ever find a time and place alone enough where no one was looking.

But that time and place had not come and Josh had come and performed his self-appointed duty of master and father of all to be.

House felt sick. He could already sense the changes in his body. He had known by the end of the next day, in fact, that he was pregnant. If he thought he could have survived a self-inflicted abortion, he would have done it.

House glared daggers at Josh, not bothering to mask his seething fury at the man for the unwanted spawn that was rapidly growing inside him. "Yeah." He just manged the word without adding _You fucking rapist! _

His belly grew rapidly and his mood soured because of it, spurring him to make unreasonable demands on every member of the household for food and drink, hot baths and plenty of undisturbed sleep-ins. He flatly refused to do any chores what-so-ever, and said exactly what he pleased to all of them.

Bobby fretted and ran himself ragged trying to keep House fed, warm and happy; all three impossible states of being. Bobby would tear at his hair and rub his neck with his failure to do anything right, and Josh, happy to just let Bobby deal with his loud-mouthed, food-flinging, combative breeder, closed his ears to it. Wolf reacted like himself and didn't seem to notice anything amiss at all.

Eli stood back and watched House with his eyes even sadder and more forlorn than ever.

One day, in the midst of one of Eli's sappy staring sessions, House snapped, "What the hell are you staring at? Haven't you seen a pregnant man before?"

Eli didn't want an argument. "Yes." But he didn't take his eyes off Josh's pregnant mate, currently slouched in the only easy chair in the living room, his right leg dangling over the arm rest.

House had almost forgotten about the dead BM buried on their property however many hundreds of miles away that grave was. House decided to ease off on the dramatic displays of hatred for just this one. Eli had it in for no one. "I sure hope one of you idiots knows how to deliver a baby."

"I took a class with my wife once, back in the day. Never was in the delivery room though."

Beneath his breath, "Super. I meant a man-birth. Women, in case you've failed to notice, are no longer on the endangered list, they're on the extinct list."

Eli sighed. Nothing he did seemed to please. "Well, when you get closer, maybe you could explain a few things."

House looked at his hands. Tired of the half-charade of anger, he relented a little. "S'ppose I could."

Eli, seated on the larger couch, leaned forward, elbows on powerful knees. "You don't want that kid, do you?"

House smirked. "Clued into that, have you?"

Eli nodded. He didn't speak for a few minutes, then to House's shock, "What are your kids names?"

House felt the ire rise in him like a tidal flood, blocking out all good thought and reason. No one had spoken of his kids since he'd had that one talk with Eli, least of all himself. Any thoughts of them and he would obsess for days on ways to escape and somehow get home.

No one had permitted him to see his children or even allow him the hope of _ever_ seeing them again. And so no one here but him had the right to mention them for any reason. The thought of their names even being mixed with their saliva and dropped from their mouths was unthinkable.

Suddenly House's anger, all his pent up rage, his anguish from months of being trapped hundreds of miles from home, of being impregnated with Josh's mutant worms brought the worst feeling he possessed out like a mad bull from its pen. House, pivoting on his cane like a pole-vaulter, was across the room in seconds and doing his best to beat Eli's skull in.

Eli was astonished at the speed of the crippled man as he leaped across the floor like gazelle and started swinging his cane like a club, trying to crack him open. "Hey!" Eli deflected the blows of the cane with his arms. He didn't want to hurt House. "Hey!" Reason was best. He did not want to hurt the baby or cause House to hurt himself or the baby.

But House seemed to be hearing none of it. Eli finally had to stand and wrestle the cane away and wrap his tree limb arms around the BM to try and get him under control. "House!"

House twisted and wriggled and spat fury and curses at Eli and everyone one of his female ancestors, but Eli held on with his whole strength which was considerable. After a moment or two of supreme effort, all the fight went out of House and he slumped.

Eli held onto House's whole weight, feeling the heat of the BM's body through his clothes and smelling the scent of his skin; the feel and vibrant life of him. He was a man, like Jonesy had been a man, but both with a difference. Both possessed hormones that served to drive sire males to mindless sexual distraction.

A tremble traveled through House's body from foot to head, and Eli wondered if he was sick. But House leaned his forehead in against his shoulder and Eli felt a wetness spread through his cotton shirt. House was weeping. It was an odd, quiet weeping. Not a sound but ragged breath, and not a hitch in his throat.

Not a sniffle.

Eli felt an odd pleasure associated with this newest member of their house. He often, of course, felt the lust. And, for a long time, had been feeling a simple and strong affection for the desperately unhappy BM. But this sensation was something else. A feeling he had not experienced since Jonesy died - a shy kind of pride that this man allowed him, and only him, to hold him up and let him silently shed some grief into the dip of his shoulder. Eli then stopped clutching House to control him and instead held him in order to comfort. Wrapping his arms firmly around him, they almost went twice.

After only a minute or two, House, calmly now, shook off Eli's touch without a word and averting his eyes that had so openly betrayed his human vulnerabilities, he retrieved his cane from the floor, and crimped away up the stairs.

Eli wondered if he should follow but his body had other ideas. Lacking an actual command from his brain as to how to do it, he fell back onto the couch. Nothing it seemed, flesh wise presently wanted to obey him. Trying to process all the new sensations rushing through his blood stream, Eli sat very still and just let the river go over and through, taking its own course.

He had just been exposed to his first-time ever exchange of body fluids from House to him, and the dosage had been huge and fast. Sweat, tears, spit, even a little contact of skin on skin, had each left behind its chemical mark to slowly drive him mad. Eli was light-headed and could feel his skin prickle and his hair stand on end. He felt alive for the first time in over a year. The bulge in his pants was almost painful.

He was drunk on BM chemistry! House and his breeder magic were weaving an unintentional spell. The ecstasy from just that brief contact, Eli amused himself with the image, made both of his heads spin.

Eli didn't complain.

House was a flavor all new and Eli wanted to taste him again. He was now certain beyond all doubt that not only were he and House sexually compatible in every way, but that he deeply, passionately, beyond-turning back loved this scruffy, angry, sadly lonely BM with everything he himself could offer in a human way, and he didn't even know exactly what had triggered it.

Deep down though, Eli was proud that he already felt that way about House without ever having slept with him. Just like it had happened with Jonesy. And, as far as he was concerned, it was proof positive that Mother Nature didn't hold all the cards.

Weird, new sexual wilderness or no, modern love wasn't only of the flesh.

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Part VII asap


	7. Chapter 7

REMEMBER ZION

Part VII

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heavenf

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will probably never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

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_Foreman wondered if they all did it - House's face, flesh and feel ghosted in each other's bodies? Was he, Foreman, __**House,**__ right now, to Wilson?_

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House's labor pains started in the middle of morning chores. Breakfast was over, Bobby had cleaned up the dishes and the family of men, with the exception of House, moved to the outside and their various tasks decided upon for the day. By the time Eli and Bobby raced back inside in response to House's shouts, House was then yelling at them to hurry their sorry asses up and get him to a more comfortable spot than the kitchen floor.

Once House was situated on his own mattress, he ordered Bobby to heat some water and commanded Josh to find some clean sheets or towels, _"If you can find any in this dive!", _and get them ready.

Instead of immediately tending to his assigned duty, Josh looked around at his fellows in a kind of bewildered panic. "Anybody here know anything about birthing a baby?"

House all but spit venom. "I do, you _idiot_! The doctor in labor."

Eli, standing around the bed with the rest of them in a broken circle and looking as scared as any, raised his hand like he was in class. "Um, I know."

Josh seemed confused by that. "_You?"_

"Yeah." He knelt beside the bed, near House's hips. "I had kids once and, well, House explained things to me last week about how it would go and what to do." Eli decided to ignore the flash of of jealousy on Josh's face, who was clearly put out by Eli's knowledge imparted by House.

Eli didn't care. House and the baby were the only important worries now.

"Eli!" House barked. "Help me get these jeans off." Noticing Josh still standing there, he snapped at him. "Hey _Dad_! You want this baby? Move your ass."

Josh went to find clean sheets and Bobby returned to the room with a pot of hot water.

House found himself in the unenviable position of being the attending physician to his own baby's birth. True, he had explained a few things to Eli and he hoped the big guy remembered at least some of it.

Apparently he did because Eli took each of House's calves in his massive hands and gently lifted them, applying upward pressure, encouraging House to spread his legs and bend them at the knee.

House was entering the period where his labor pains were becoming autonomous, his abdominal muscles contracting and then relaxing as though a series of flexing caterpillars were writhing beneath his skin. Each flowing wave from just below his diaphragm to his groin coaxed a groan of agony from him. He bit his lip to stop them and only succeeded in biting through his lip.

Eli dabbed the blood it away with his shirt sleeve. He tried to remember everything House had explained; where he should feel to determine the advancement of the baby, when to expect the eruption of the birth canal - and what to do if it failed to erupt as had occurred during Jonsey's tragic labor, and what to do once the baby emerged. Even what to do if it appeared as though the baby was not emerging, if he was a breach, or was positioned supinely against his acetabelum.

Eli worked through the words House had taught and explained. _"If the baby is blue, he's not getting enough oxygen, you need to blow into his lungs. Suction out the mucus from his nose and mouth with a plastic __syringe__, then cover both his nose and mouth with yours and gently blow, no more than a fist full of air at a time. This isn't a beach ball you're trying to blow up, - it's a baby."_

Eli then recalled House saying the baby would need warmth and should be left to sleep for several hours. _"He'll probably sleep for ten hours or more post-partum. Make damn sure there's formula ready when he wakes up; he's got nothing in his system right now and he'll be screaming for food. And for Christ's sake, make sure it's liquid. Nothing solid at all, unless you want him to choke. Because if that happens, I'll choke you!"_

Eli had listened carefully, he'd even written things down. House was a doctor and Eli had sat and listened to him for hours, House speaking of things so out of his normal league, Eli had felt like a fool. But he had also felt a bit of pride that House had chosen him to speak them to. It meant House trusted him, at least more than he trusted any of the others.

House's next bit of advice, what to do if, despite their treatments, the baby didn't begin to breath despite all their attempts as resuscitation. . _."Bury him,' cause he's dead." _

Eli hoped like hell nothing bad would happen but, as House's shouts of pain began to hurt his eardrums, he started sweating and shaking in fear. Suddenly, in the midst of a terrific spasm, House's right hand shot out and groped for his until their fingers stumbled into one another, tangling up. House squeezed Eli's sausage-like fingers in a respectably powerful grip.

Over that too, Eli felt proud.

Hours elapsed with no sign of an eruption. House assured them it was normal for labor to go on for hours, sometimes days. "Remember Jonesy?" He said between gasps, his face soaked in sweat from exhaustion and his eyes bugging from pain and pressure, though they looked almost nowhere but at Eli. Never at Josh.

Eli remembered and prayed to his father's absent god that there be no repeat performances here.

As Bobby re-heated the water over and over and Josh wandered in and out of the room with the look of a frightened old man and Wolf . . . Eli didn't give a toot where Wolf was, Eli leaned down to whisper to House, "Is everything,...I mean does everything feel, you know, _okay_ down there?"

House nodded and, in an even fainter whisper, "As far as I can tell from _here_, things are moving along normally."

Eli sighed with relief but, even after many hours kneeling on the floor beside the man he was in love with who was birthing another man's baby, he only let go of House's hand long enough to run and take a piss or drink a glass of water - or whatever Bobby handed to him to gulp on the fly. Several times, he also helped House drink, though food was refused. "I'll just puke it up."

House looked at Eli, though, with grudging gratitude. "By the way, once this baby is out, I'm going to piss all over myself. And remember, I'm going to pass out right after that and sleep for twelve hours, so don't send me to bed disgusting."

Eli stroked his forehead with a cool cloth. "I'll remember."

In the middle of eating some turkey sandwiches Bobby had made and brought up, which consisted of nothing but turkey meat cut up and slapped on flat bread, House let forth with a sharp yelp. "Son-of-a - ow-ow-OW! -- _Fuck!_"

To their collective shock, the skin below his genitals split and an organ none of them had ever seen before emerged. Like it had a separate life of its own, it wriggled out into the world with a grossly wet sounding _Shplep!_ It was a purplish tube slicked with blood and closed at it's exposed end by three-flaps of flesh. House had called it _"A __tricuspid__ valve. And don't bloody touch it unless you have to." _

Bobby turned a weird shade of green and excused himself from the room. Josh couldn't stop staring at the alien thing that had just broken through below his pregnant mate's testicles, and abandoned his sandwich, trying not to let the half he had eaten unceremoniously re-visit them all.

Eli was watching the whole thing in a kind of hypnotic daze, though he kept his wits about him enough to keep his eye on House as well. "How long now, babe?" He whispered.

House ignored the term of affection and shook his head, saying in a weak rasp, "If all goes well, hours or minutes, I dunno'." He sighed and closed his eyes. "I'm so goddamn tired."

Eli whispered something close to House's ear; words for just himself and this new man that he deeply loved. "You're incredible."

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"Maybe we ought to have, I don't know, some kind of remembrance service." Chase suggested.

Spring had established its hold on the countryside by the myriad shades of green poking through everywhere. June was in full bloom and House had been gone for over ten months.

Sitting on the front porch beside Chase, Foreman sipped Wilson's morning brew of chicory, honey and goat's cream. It wasn't a bad substitute for real coffee, but he'd give almost anything if a Starbucks moved into the neighborhood. "You mean for House? Are you kidding?"

Chase came to the defense of his own idea. "I'm not talking a posthumous memorial, I was just thinking we could do something nice for Wilson. Maybe have a party. You know, the lecherous, drink beer until you get stupid bash. The kind of celebration House would appreciate if he were here."

Foreman thought it over. It wasn't a half bad idea. "Only problem is we have no beer."

"Well, we've got lots of potatoes - we could brew some vodka. Or dandelion wine, there's no shortage of those bloody things." Chase spent considerable time in his garden yanking the persistent weeds from between his tomato stalks, and had the callouses to prove it.

Foreman warmed to the idea. "I could maybe cook for a change. My mom's chicken dressing recipe's pretty great, if I can remember what went in it. And if Wilson even has the stuff for it in his cupboards." Foreman frowned. "But what do we call it? I don't think "House is Gone - Let's Party" would go over very well."

Chase considered. "We could make it House's birthday. Do have any idea when his birthday was?"

Foreman bared his teeth. "Um, you might want to lose the past tense around Wilson."

Chase caught up to what he'd said and nodded.

"I think it's in June sometime." He frowned that, after nearly two years living with the man and making babies with him, he had no idea when on what day June House's birthday fell or even exactly how old he was. He asked Chase.

Chase rubbed his chin. "I don't know. I think he was - what? - forty-nine, fifty when Outbreak happened. He was almost a year in the Facility, almost a year here, and another year gone now, so that would now make him fifty-three, fifty-four I guess."

Making House still not an old man, but neither a man getting any younger. Chase wondered if House was alive and, _if_ he was, was he eating? Was he warm? "Maybe we should make it about the kids? How about a collective birthday party for everyone, the kids and the three of us? That way we're celebrating his legacy without drawing attention to the fact that he's not here."

Foreman liked it. It skirted the sad fact of House's long absence while drawing attention to the things about him that remained; their children. House's children. It was perfect. "Fuckin' A."

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Josh wiggled the incredibly tiny hand of his new-born son. He was just over a pound, a weight House insisted was healthy for male child-birth. "I'm a doctor, remember? And I'm the one with the pregger parts, so rest your fat head about it. A male pelvis is not about to pop out a seven pounder in any century." Was his snappy answer to Josh's look of doubt.

"What do we name him?" Josh asked, having learned through habit to ignore his breed mate when he was hormonal, hungry, tired, cranky or irritated, which covered just about all twenty-four hours in any given day.

House slapped Josh's hand away from the new-born cradled in his arms. "I'll let you know when _I _decide." House drew his eyes back to his son. "No one's naming him but me. Your bit in all this is over."

Josh sighed and straightened up, stretching out the crick in his back. His breed mate seemed to look for any opportunity to insult him. House was a contrary BM with a chip on his shoulder that nothing seemed to budge. Josh supposed he had some right to it. Besides, there were more babies to come, so he figured he could put up with almost anything. And between them, Bobby and Eli seemed to handle House's various moods and other endless needs, and that left him free to reserve his energy for the far more pleasant aspects of again having his own BM: the mind-blowing sex.

"I'm hungry." House grumbled. "Make yourself useful and bring me some food."

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House decided upon a name he liked. The baby looked nothing like him. He was, instead a red head, like his sire father, with the same hazel eyes and nose freckles. But this was his baby, House reminded himself, and he wanted a name to remind him of someone else; anyone else but Josh.

Someone he missed every day.

"Evan." House answered when a few days later Josh asked him if he had picked out a name yet.

House didn't care if no one else liked it and didn't bother to ask. It was Wilson's middle name and brought Wilson back to his mind without the sharp pang of loneliness that always arrived whenever the more intimate _James_ passed through his thoughts.

In the same hour, "Who's he named after?" Eli asked.

"A _good_ man."

Eli didn't ask for more as House seemed to have withdrawn from him once the baby was born. He supposed it was natural that the majority of the birth-father's energies would instinctively turn to the child.

But House looked up at Eli who, though seated on the edge of the mattress, still towered over House who was sitting up in bed, letting himself heal.

Eli had the longest, most powerful torso House had ever seen on an otherwise normally proportioned man. Eli wasn't a giant, but God seemed to have given him size extra-large for every external part of him. His king-like features; the high, wide cheek bones, the heavy brow and large, deeply set eyes, (which House swore saw everything), along with his massive strength belied his essentially gentle and calm nature.

Despite his Gandhi-like non-involvement regarding his sex-prisoner situation, House had decided Eli was also a good man. About as good as they came here-a-days. Not as good as Wilson, but then Wilson had broke that mold a long time ago.

"Thank you for helping me." House said to Eli.

Eli stared back, his mouth open in a stupid maw of surprise.

House realized it was the first time he had thanked anyone for anything since being brought here. Almost a year. That thought brought up memories of Wilson and his mates, and foremost the children lost to him. The flash feeling of hopelessness and grief, for a brief moment, hit him like a sledge hammer. And then it dissipated in the presence of Evan. Maybe he could be happy here. House decided that was hoping for way too much. Maybe he could find enough contentment in Evan somehow. Enough that he wasn't thinking of escape almost every hour.

House swallowed the momentary sadness and added, "For caring for me." House knew Eli was staring at him with his big round, love-struck eyes.

"I'd do anything for you, babe'."

House laughed. A brief, mocking puff of air blown out between a toothless grimace. "Except help me go home." He reminded him. "So actually _not _anything."

By the tone of House's bitter words, the tender moment between them had already passed.

Eli wanted to. He would love nothing more than to take House away from here, keep him safe and loved, and have him for himself.

But leave his mates? Leave Bobby? He was still so young.

Would Eli even be welcomed where House had come from? Since they would look at him as one of the kidnappers, they might likely kill him as thank him. Plus life here was comfortable for him. He was used to it; the routine; the shared responsibilities, and, as odd as they were, the companionship. Here, Eli had his place in the world, even it wasn't in House's bed, his body consumed by meals of BM delight.

Here he had the better side of the BM's relationship than did Josh. Josh only had House's body and as desirable as that was, Eli felt he was making tiny walk-ways into House's mind and soul. Maybe even his heart in a small way. That mattered so much more.

Josh had his high point of the relationship with House, if it could so be called, maybe twice a week. If that.

But the rapport _he_ had established with House kept him happy most of every day.

Josh had the short end of the stick.

But Eli knew one thing, though Josh was not emotionally demonstrative - you hardly ever knew what the man was thinking - he was madly protective of that short end, whatever it was. Josh believed in preserving the things he saw as his. That's what had lead to their insane road trip to find if the "Doctor's Farm" rumors that had circulated up and down the highway, actually existed. It had been Josh's last ditch effort to save Jonesy and the baby, even if it meant exposing them all to the dangers of highway bandits, broken down machines and inclement weather.

Josh saw House, and now Evan, as his. And, at least in the case of Evan, he was right. Eli was also very grateful to Josh for having taken in him and Jonesy, and had grown to feel a kind of respectful affection for the leader of their little group. He felt indebted.

Josh wasn't perfect by any means, but he was not just in it for himself. He wanted kids and a legacy of his own. He had designs on leaving behind children who could grow and make something more of the land and of themselves than what his generation had been left with after Outbreak had passed through, ravaging everything they understood about life, love and family.

Eli wondered if Josh had lost a wife and family in Outbreak also. Josh was so closed mouthed about everything, he had never thought to ask.

They were all adapting to a new way of things and it hadn't been easy on anyone.

"I can't leave them." Was the only explanation Eli could voice. It would sound irrational to House, he knew, but it couldn't be helped. Even if it meant gaining House for a short while, for the few days it would take to return him home, taking him back there would risk losing him forever. He didn't think he could go through that kind of pain again. Losing his life here _and_ Housewas simply far too much to risk.

His tone low and mean; a simmering cauldron, "Get out." House said.

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Chase declined the alcoholic drink for watching over the kids while Foreman did his level best to get Wilson sloshed. Wilson had loved the idea of a family birthday bash, and had cooked up a feast, denying Foreman access to the kitchen. Though he did ask for what Foreman could remember of his mother's dressing recipe.

The party went on most of the evening and night until Wilson stumbled up the stairs, leaning to starboard, then back to stern like a ship in a storm. Foreman guided him to the bedroom and, laughing, helped Wilson strip off his clothes as fast as their drunken hands could manage. Then, removing his in seconds, Foreman fell into bed with him, heavy with drink and heady with desire.

It took almost no time for them both to get hard and start pawing at each other.

Foreman smothered Wilson's lips in some urgent, open-mouthed tonguing, raking his hands over the slimmer man's ribcage and back muscles, working his arms under Wilson's thighs and bending them up, farther up, higher until Wilson's knees rested against his pale, bony shoulders.

It had been a long time since he had topped Wilson or touched any part of him. It had been a while for any satisfying amount of mutual sexual satiation. Casual sex had been put on the back burner for kids, for grief, for the longing of another.

Foreman reached for the little pickle jar of lard they kept conveniently under the bed and scooped up a dollop of it, spreading it on his cock and giving himself a couple of strokes to keep the fire going. The remainder he dabbed around Wilson's waiting hole. Wilson's mouth was open and his eyes wide and waiting. He wanted it as badly as Foreman did and that was enough to cause Foreman to force himself into Wilson in one smooth motion like a stake through butter.

"O-o-o-o- f-u-u-u-uck." He breathed into Wilson's ear. He slapped Wilson's flat buttock and Wilson's pink hole reflexively clenched around his shining cock.

As he stroked luxuriously in and out of Wilson's drunken, accommodating ass, Foreman recalled that he used to do that to House all the time, only House had a fine mold of an ass on him. He filled jeans in all the right places.

Foreman closed his eyes and, nudging aside a twinge of guilt, imagined it was House beneath him, panting and whimpering his name, raising his hips up to meet his thick cock and clenching, trying to drag him down onto his body, then raising them up up again. Foreman, getting into the fantasy, withdrew just so he could plunge "House's" depths as hard and as fast as possible, over and over. After a while they slowed down. Foreman didn't even have to say anything, House just seemed to instinctively know exactly what he wanted and precisely when to offer it. It was like fucking a hot wizard.

House was a master of cock tease and knew how to wrestle his cock in just the right ways to suck the most cum from his balls. House virtually rode him from the bottom, milking him until the last drop was ready and pushing at the gate.

Foreman imagined House's smell and moans and begging and lovely soft skin; House's writhing muscles beneath his probing fingers. Foreman let himself fall fully into the fantasy of fucking his breed mate. He could feel his balls tighten with it and his cock twitch in excitement, like it hadn't gone on this ride for a while and had missed it bad.

Saving the best fantasy for last, he pictured House's turquoise blue irises, so fucking gorgeous, surrounding wide pupils - chemically stoned dilation - brimming with water from the chemical rush of Foreman's penetrating cum. That drove him nearly crazy and he wondered if Wilson wondered if he'd gone nuts as he pumped and swore strings of sexual expletives in his ear, calling him all manner of obscenities and riding him so mercilessly, the bed was scraping on wooden legs back and forth, leaving marks on the hardwood.

And then Foreman imagined the thing that he knew would plunge him into a longer, deeper orgasm than anything he could ever achieve with either Wilson or Chase; the thought of House getting pregnant right at the instant his cock burst. Foreman felt the vibrating spasm and yelled out, spending the next few minutes humping his startled mate without conscious thought, trying to fuck every last ounce of himself deep into fantasy House who was wide open for him and wanting it so badly. Begging him for it -- _pleading _for it.

Foreman pressed his hands down on "House's" thighs to spread them even more and change the angle. He growled into "House's" ear and was shocked to hear his own voice actually speaking the words. "I am going to _flood_ your sweet ass."

_I am going to knock you up!_ Foreman hoped like hell he hadn't said that last part aloud.

He was getting s-o-o-o close. He was right on the edge of that fantastic free-fall, so at the very last second, in the hope to keep himself as hard as possible for as long as possible, Foreman conjured up the mental image of a pregnant House, and the blushed, tight swell of flesh starting not even an inch above his naked groin.

That did it. "Ahhh - fuck baby! Take it - _take it!" _The orgasm had hit like a lightening strike, sending him into a jerky, rhythm-less frenzy.

"Oh, my _god!" _He ground out between clenched teeth into vision-House's ear. The soft skin of House's absent shoulder was so close to his lips. Foreman imagined he could smell House's not there scent and feel his elsewhere body heat.

And then it was over. The highest of the highs for his cock and his mind began to ebb. One last image of House pregnant because of him, coaxed a few more tiny spasms of pleasure to the surface.

That was also the picture that had always sent him off whether in bed or not: one good fuck and - ta dah! - little bun in House's oven.

Foreman collapsed on Wilson, gasping for air and pouring sweat. He had been so caught up in the moment, he had no idea if Wilson had come or not. But one look confirmed that, yes, he had.

Trying to bring his mind back around to Wilson, Foreman kissed him very tenderly on the lips and said with all honesty to Wilson (and in absentia to House), "I really miss fucking you, babe."

Foreman wondered if they all did it - House's face, flesh and feel ghosted in each other's bodies? Was he, Foreman, _House,_ right now, to Wilson?

Very possibly. "I miss you too." Wilson said.

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Part VIII asap (lots more to come)


	8. Chapter 8

REMEMBER ZION

Part VIIIf

By GeeLadyfff

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heavenfff

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)f

**Pairing: House/Wilson/Foreman/Chase/Others**

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.f

**Disclaimer:** I will probably never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

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_He was a daddy planning for the future, and the future would be what he made of it._

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"He sure has fat legs for such a little guy. He takes after Josh."

House had fed and changed Evan and was occupied with lining a small crib for him from some two by six boards Eli had hammered together. It was plain but sturdy and Eli had taken great pains to sand all the rough edges and knots down until they were smooth.

Josh had nodded his approval and, after playing with his son's feet for a minute or two, left for a four day hunting trip with Wolf, with rifles slung, a couple of sleeping rolls and a large bag of provisions.

House could not help but feel pleasantly relieved. Two days where he didn't have to work out new excuses for refusing Josh's sexual advances. "I'm not even healed yet." Had a good two week run but had burned out a few days ago. He used "frontal lobe headaches" for the next week, chalking them up to "a typical of post-postpartum complication". He had been ready to start using a generic not feeling well stand-by or come up with something sufficiently gross, like a weird rash, only he couldn't find anything to mark up his skin take make it look legitimately convincing.

Josh's hunting trip made it all academic and given him a reprieve to think up something really scary or at the very least, time to mix up an alternate home-grown spermicidal.

Something itched at House's mind, which Josh's departure and his own delight over it had momentarily crowded out. "Fat?"

"Yeah." Bobby said.

House frowned and looked at his son, pushing back the cotton blankets Eli took pains to keep clean and soft.

Evan's legs were a little fat. House gently rolled one and the other of his tiny calves between a finger and thumb, being careful not to squeeze. The skin was taut. "Bring him into the office."

Bobby carried him in, wrapped in a blanket while House laid a clean sheet out on the cool surface of the counter-top. "What's wrong?" Bobby gently laid him down.

"Remove the blanket." House said, not really answering. "The whole thing."

"It's cool in here." Evan was only three weeks old.

"He'll be fine for a minute." In the brighter light of the office, House was able to see that Evan's legs were not, as he had just suspected, fat, but were a little swollen. Not a lot but just enough that it alarmed him. "It's not fat, it's edema."

"Huh?"

"Swelling in his legs." House felt Evan's arms. They were tiny but nicely plump with baby fat, the skin pliable. Normal. No swelling. His legs, though, were baby-fatted _and_ swollen.

"Is that normal?'

"No."

"What's wrong with him?" Bobby asked, his youthful eyes blinked nervously.

House shook his head. "I don't know." He could feel his heart pound. "Swollen legs can mean a lot of things. Kidney or liver malfunction, thyroid malfunction, a heart defect like a hole or a faulty valve. I need a pen and some paper."

Bobby scrambled out into the kitchen and rummaged through a drawer or two until he came up with a pencil and the blank inside cover of a child's coloring book, bringing them to House. "Do you want me to get Eli too?"

Eli was in the garden trying to work some more life into the soil by spreading around dried chicken poop. House had pointed out a gardening article he'd come across in one of the yellowed magazines he'd found in a box in the cellar, next to the wood pile. House had convinced them that the magazines were far more useful as resource material than fire-starter, and that dried moss would make a good substitute.

House nodded. He'd probably need help more astute than Bobby. "Yeah."

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Eli and Bobby watched, fascinated, as House lifted Evan up, holding the center of his son's chest right against his left ear. "What I say, write down." House instructed. "Heart rate and respirations normal. No fluid in the lungs." House pressed his finger into the flesh of Evan's right foot. "Systemic blood return is good. Circulation appears normal. BP is probably normal but there's no way to be sure."

Bobby wrote.

House lay Evan back down on the counter and very gently probed his middle back with one finger. Evan fussed at the odd touch.

"Does that hurt?" Bobby asked when Evan frowned.

House shook his head. "If it hurt, he would have cried. No tenderness in the kidneys." House probed very gently under the baby's rib-cage. "No hepatomegaly."

Bobby looked bewildered. "No liver swelling." House explained. When Bobby didn't move, House snapped his tongue, "Write it _down_." then looked around the room.

House checked out Bobby's footwear. "Give the paper to Eli, I need a shoe-lace." He said, waiting.

Bobby realized House was waiting for him to hand over one of his. He gave the pencil and paper to Eli, bent down and quickly untied the knots on one very worn out blue sneaker, giving the lace to their doctor BM.

House wrapped the shoe-lace once around Evan's swollen thigh. "About three and half inches." House looked at Eli who dutifully wrote.

House next used his shoe-lace measure on the thickest part of Evan's calf. "Three inches. Write down the date and time too."

Eli scribbled.

House motioned to Bobby with a nod. "I need you to hold him with his feet and legs higher than his head. And don't drop him."

"I won't." Bobby accepted the baby. "Is that good for him?"

"No, but if the swelling in his legs doesn't diminish after a half hour, that tells me something."

"What?"

"I don't know yet."

Bobby seated himself on the office's only stool and they waited.

After a half hour, House measure again. He looked more worried now. "No reduction in the swelling." House stated what they could all see for themselves.

Eli and Bobby watched helplessly as House wrapped up his son again and stood leaning on his Eli-carved cane, thinking, his face taut and lined with tension.

"Is there an old scale anywhere?" House asked. "For cooking measurements? An old bathroom scale will do."

Eli said, "There's a scale behind the toilet."

House nodded to Eli. "Carry Evan." Looked at Bobby. "Bring the paper and pencil." House lead the way, gimping on his bad leg as fast as he could, one step up at a a time. "We need to weigh him."

Eli obeyed. If anyone had forgotten that House had been a physician in the old days, they were being rapidly re-educated.

Bobby followed, asking again, "Is Evan all right?"

House snapped back, "I said don't _know!"_

House fished the old scale out with his cane. It was rusty and looked like it had been manufactured in the sixties, but its workings were the old fashioned mechanical type. No computer chips or batteries to wear out. House hoped the rust had not seized its innards. Putting aside his wooden walking assist, House reached his arms out for his son and, cradling Evan, stepped on the scale. "What's the number?"

Eli bent down low to read the dirty number dial. "One-hundred-ninety-and-a-half."

House stepped off the scale and handed Evan to Bobby, then he stepped back on. "Now, what's the number?"

Eli said, "One-eighty-nine."

"One and a half pounds. Mark that down too." House instructed.

Bobby said, his voice timid after House's previous angry snarls to his questions, "Do you think, I mean..."

House felt his anger drain at the young man's frightened face. Evan seemed to mean something to all of them. "Was there any fish in that stew you made last night?" Bobby had saved the broth from last night's dinner for Evan and House had given him a small feeding of it. Milk and chicken eggs were limited, but what they had, Evan got.

Bobby shook his head.

House bit his lip. "The simplest explanation for the swelling is a food allergy. As allergic reactions go, edema is not the worst but it's not good either." House motioned for Eli to wrap Evan up again and follow him back downstairs.

House entered the kitchen and began systematically opening cupboards to look through Bobby's dwindling supply of canned goods. There were a few dozen cans of beans, a dozen or so of corn and peas, a few of tomato sauce, and all of dubious age.

House said to them, "No tomato sauce in Evans formulas. No fish juice of any kind." House bit his lip.

"Why did you weigh him?" Eli asked.

House shook his head, muttering, not really in answer to Eli at all. "Probably wrong . . ."

"What does it mean if his swelling goes down?" Eli asked.

House closed the cupboards and turned to look at him. "It means I was right. If not, it could be something else, like an egg allergy, but since right now those are his sole source of protein. . ."

House looked down at his son lying on the kitchen table, kicking his tiny legs. "We might have to find a substitute. In the meantime, we cut out all feeding except water for twelve hours and see if the swelling goes down. If it does, we reintroduce each food, one at a time and watch for a reaction. If his legs swell again, then we'll be able to eliminate that food from his diet."

Eli hated to think it but, "What if that's not what's causing this?"

House leaned against the counter, trying not to let his thoughts turn to the more awful possibilities. Allergies in one so young would generally present with a rash or a slight swelling of the tongue, not bilateral edema of the lower extremities. "In that case we monitor his weight, make sure he's gaining like he's supposed to, . ."

Thus the weight measure, thought Eli.

House had fallen silent.

De-ja-vu.

There was no Cameron, and Chase and Foreman were beyond his reach, but at that moment House felt like he had in the old days. The only difference was Evan was his son. "Pure" motive didn't come into it. This was his child and he needed saving for reasons beyond the puzzle or the dullness of end-week paper-work.

Death itself was meaningless and it found everyone eventually. House accepted that as intelligence and reason demanded. But good, healthy life, while it lasted, had value, and his son's life possessed greater potential value than his own, if for no other reason but that Evan had so much more of it ahead of him. House wanted him to have that living. However instinctual or inexplicable the feeling might be, every argument for reaching the correct diagnosis and treatment was reduced to the fact that he desperately loved his son.

He wanted Evan to live. Being objective would be impossible.

". . .and we wait for something to change."

-

-

-

-

David's spring cold ran through every member of the household including the other five children.

Drake was feeding. Wilson held the bottle wearily, his hand cramping from the awkward position. He himself was still sniffling but was thankful that the damn rhino virus had run its course and the kids were fussing less.

A ray of warm sun had moved across the floor and caught him in the eye. It was a gorgeous, warm spring day and he craved the outdoors and fresh air.

David refused the bottle. Wilson let the sunshine warm his cheek. He would love to be outdoors right now, he thought, looking around at the essentially bare, uninteresting living room. Except for the couch, chair and play-pen, the room was drab and depressing. But it wasn't as though there was a Home Depot available.

Wilson had an idea.

-

-

Foreman watched, highly amused, as Chase unrolled the last of their spare chicken wire.

"Wilson wants a what?"

"An outdoor play-pen slash sand-box for the kids."

"What if the old chicken wire wears out. It's already getting rusty."

"We can always dismantle the play-pen down the road, when the kids are older."

Foreman realized that was true. He liked the idea of the play-pen for the kids, it was a good idea, but the practical things had to be considered too.

"Okay, but not all the kids are even crawling yet. Reid and Gordon are the only two old enough to have figured that out."

"I know, but Wilson says he's tired of being cooped up indoors all day with the kids. And while we still can't let them wander around out on the grass because they could pick up bugs or bird droppings and eat them, or a passing coyote might decide the kids are just the right size for a snack and try and snatch one when our backs are turned, we _can_ build this."

Foreman watched for a minute. He approved the precautions.

"It's going to have four foot high chicken wire wall with a gate and everything. I'm building the wood frame out of two-by-fours, with a two-by-six around the bottom. The boys'll be outdoors but still safe, Wilson can putter around in the yard, planting his flowers or whatever, and still keep an eye on them. _And_ there's plenty of dry, sandy soil down by the creek we can haul up."

"Okay. I wasn't mocking the idea." Foreman held up a hand to restrain his sensitive partner. Chase was hefting three or four boards onto his shoulders and carrying them to a well placed tree stump to saw them by hand into the correct lengths. He had already worked up a sweat in the mid-day heat.

"Need a hat?"

Chase dropped the boards by the stump with a clatter. "What I need, dad, is some help."

Foreman stepped up and stole a kiss from his grumpy mate. "Okay, dad. Let's do it."

-

-

It took only a couple of hours to sand and hammer together the frame. The chicken wire took almost no time. Chase ran his hands along every surface of the wood to check for splinters or any nails sticking out anywhere. Hauling the sand up from the creek took the better part of the rest of the afternoon. They poured it out, bucket by bucket, screening it for twigs and pebbles.

When it was complete, Wilson brought out the few plastic toys he had scrounged from every dark corner of the house and out-buildings. The kids possessions were scanty; a headless Barbie, three plastic rings of various sizes, and a collection of green wooden blocks marked with fading ABC's on them. The final touch Wilson added himself; six teddy bears he had spent weeks making, fashioned from worn-out shirts and a pair of his own jeans he had sacrificed to their children's measly stock of playthings.

With a lot of teasing from Foreman, Wilson added his gift to the play-pen. The bears were eyeless (no buttons that could be torn off and swallowed), and their fashion sense was appalling, but it had been a labor of love and Foreman kissed him on the cheek, laughing.

Chase was examining one of the bears. The hand stitching job was professional; finely done and perfectly even. The teddies would last for fifty years. "Wow. Stuffed bears. Wilson, I didn't know you had it in you."

Wilson took the teasing indulgently. What his partners didn't know is he also located, piled up in the rafters of the tumbling down barn, two bicycles and one tricycle in need of some minor repairs, plus a child's wagon with a missing wheel. When the kids were older. . .

Wilson smiled to himself. He was a daddy planning for the future, and the future would be what he made of it.

-

-

-

-

-

"It's not an allergy." House stated matter-of-factly. On a child's blackboard against one wall of the living room, House had written ALLERGY? Then underneath: EDEMA, ANOREXIA, LACK OF WEIGHT GAIN. "Allergy" he had crossed out.

Josh and Wolf had returned that morning with a small deer and three geese. Eli had quickly brought them up to date on Evan. Wolf was left to skin and gut the fruits of their hunting trip.

Josh slumped beside Bobby on the couch. Eli was seated on the one chair with Evan in his lap, trying to get him to eat.

House paced back and forth before them, leaning heavily on his cane. Eli could tell by the tension in his face that he was in a lot of pain. Probably it was worse than usual because House had not slept for over twenty-four hours.

Everyone was quiet, watching House think. Eli didn't believe that even Josh would attempt to supplant House's authority when it came to anything medical. Josh could be a terrific, narrow minded jerk, but that didn't make him an idiot. House was the physician. Just because there were no hospitals...

"It's gotta be kidney." House said. Privately he knew that could be as wrong as anything else, but saying it made his mind work over the whys and why-nots. "Only that's not likely. He's out-putting normal urine volume, the urine's clear, not infection,..." He rubbed his forehead with his left thumb as he paced.

Eli and Bobby had quickly gotten used to House's muttering of mumbo-jumbo, most of which he tried to take the time to explain. At other times, he just shook his head.

Josh was still on his first hour on the dime tour of House's inner world of medicine; a part of himself the BM had thus far declined to share with any of them. Though, until now, there had never been a need.

House looked at the list. "It could be a heart defect, though with the normal blood return, that's also unlikely." House scratched the back of his head. "His heart _sounded _normal..."

Evan's fussing increased until he frowned and began a steady round of tiny wails. Eli checked his diaper for wetness.

When he brought his hand away, his fingers were smeared with blood.

House's face went chalk white. "B-R-B-P-R." He whispered, frozen on the spot.

Bobby, terrified at the sight of a bloody diaper and what it might mean, scribbled: _BRBPR._

House translated. "Bright red blood per rectum."

Josh, staring at the blood on Eli's fingers. "What the hell is wrong with Evan?"

House slumped against the wall, finding it difficult to gather the energy to walk over to his bleeding son. Something possibly simple and puzzling had just been shoved to serious and terrifying.

House closed his eyes and tried to summon the old mojo that would figure it all out. He would diagnose it, treat whatever it was, and save his son's life. "I have no idea. But it isn't his heart."

-

-

-

House added BRBPR to his small blackboard, then instructed Eli. "Take off his diaper."

Eli did so and a small amount of stool was present.

To everyone's shock, House, with some difficulty, knelt down and stuck his finger right in the poop. "It's dark." House said. "It shouldn't be dark."

None of them knew what to say or what to do. House was holding all the reasons, explanations and actions.

House took a tiny amount of the stool onto an index finger and smeared it across the tips. He narrowed his eyes. "There are tiny black dots in the stool. That's why it's dark."

In a daze, House wrote MELENA on the board.

Bobby was about to ask for the tenth time what was wrong with Evan when House stood and said. "I need to do a bleeding time."

"What the hell is a -?" Josh started to ask.

House walked toward the old office. "Bring Evan."

Eli followed.

House took Evan's baby blanket and laid it out on the cold counter. "I need to check how long it takes his blood to clot." House rummaged in the drawers until he found what he was looking for. A thin sewing needle.

House almost reached for the back of the cabinet for a bottle of alcohol, but caught himself. A horror rushed through him that nothing useful now stood in those bottles. House turned a whiter shade of white. Now that it was Evan who needed it, suddenly his own desire for revenge to deny Josh children appeared short-sighted and foolish. He looked at Josh. "Where's the matches?"

Josh produced one from a large box of matches under the kitchen sink that containing thousands. House lit one and passed the needle through the flame several times until it burned out.

"Hold Evan still." House said and Eli placed his giant hands on Evan's tiny body. The baby was nearly completely obscured by the massive appendages.

"Anybody got a watch that still works?" House asked.

No one answered. House said to Eli, "Can you sit and count, steadily and evenly for a half hour at least? You can't stop or get distracted because then we'd have to do it over."

Eli nodded. "No problem."

House nodded, steadied the needle next to Evan's right heel and gave a sharp poke. For a second Evan looked startled then he began to cry.

A tiny drop of blood appeared. "Start counting." House said.

The blood drop swelled and began to run down Evan's foot onto the blanket.

"How deeply did you poke?" Josh asked, concerned. It seemed like an awful lot of blood for one so small.

"Deeply. It has to bleed freely."

-

Eli reached twenty three minutes when, "You can stop." House said. He pressed a small square of cotton against Evan's foot and nosed Bobby over. "Keep this pressed against it for five minutes at least."

Bobby took over House's spot and did what he was told.

"Twenty-three minutes." House said aloud. "Not normal."

"Now what?" Josh asked.

House looked on the verge of collapsing. "Now I need to draw or collect some blood." On autopilot, he began searching through the drawers and cupboards, coming up with a thin glass tube closed at one end that appeared to have once contained a mighty fine cigar.

Josh protests. "You mean you're going to make him bleed again? You just-"

Nerves frayed and wits scattering like confetti, without warning House spun on him, shouting, "Because there's something wrong with your son and I need to find out what!" He stared Josh in the face, almost nose to nose, daring him to say another word. Josh kept quiet as House released his venom on him. "So unless you went to medical school between the time you fucked me and I gave birth to Evan and can be of some real _use_, shut your fucking mouth!"

House was breathing hard like he'd just run a mile. Josh simply backed down and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

House ignored him altogether. "Bobby." He barked, trying to calm down. "Boil some water. We have to sterilize this."

Without explaining his actions, House opened every cupboard. He was sure he recalled seeing - His hand snatched the prize off the shelf. It was an old unopened package of men's hair dye, complete with plastic shrink. Tearing it open, House first carefully set aside a large piece of the outer plastic well away from everything on the counter-top. Then he spilled the box's contents out and fished out the main coloring agent. Unscrewing the cap, he sniffed.

Even Eli was dumbfounded about what House had on his mind. "What are you going to use that for?"

House replaced the cap. "Hair dye, especially these old ones, contain hydrogen peroxide. It's an antibacterial agent. It'll help with the sterilization process."

House called passed Eli to the kitchen. "Boil two pans of water." House then handed the small bottle of hair dye to Josh. "Tell him to put this in one of the pans."

Josh pushed off where he had been leaning and took the bottle without protest.

"I'll do the rest." House said to him.

Josh nodded, appearing to have no desire for further confrontations with his volatile BM.

House dipped the glass tube in the hydrogen peroxide/water first, then rinsing it the clean, boiled water.

This time, House poked Evan in his other foot and much deeper. Evan set up a caustic and heart-tugging wail at the fresh assault. House lifted his son's foot with his hand shaking, letting a small amount of the blood run into the sterilized tube.

House had Bobby stop the bleeding a second time and then he applied a bandage to cover the small wound and keep it clean.

He covered the glass tube containing Evan's blood with the inner still sterile side of the hair package's plastic cover.

"How long does it take?" Eli asked. "Whatever you're doing?"

Just to keep his mind clinical and his emotions under better control, "I'm doing a prothrombin test. I'm trying to find out how many fibrogenic cells his blood contains. _Clotting_ cells. That will tell me if it's at a healthy level."

Bobby asks, "But blood cells are so small, how can you-?"

"I can't, but if I wait until the albumin settles, the plasma part of the blood, visually I'll be able to tell by volume, at least within a ballpark figure, if his clotting factors are near normal."

"Oh."

After a half an hour, House held the tube up to the light of the window. He was white as lime and shaking from exhaustion and fear. He turned and dropped the tube into a corner bucket that was serving as a junk catch-all. "Not normal."

"How not normal is it?" Josh asked.

House looked like he was going to topple over but he leaned on his cane and managed to stay upright. "I don't know."

Eli asked the question. He asked very gently because they all understood that House was both doctor and father to the patient and, a moment ago, the doctor part, Eli suspected, had just learned something bad and was reluctant to say it aloud because the patient was his baby boy. "Do you know what's wrong with him?"

House stared at his son, who's cries had diminished under Bobby's cooing and pats.

House walked to his son and, instead of answering Eli, palpitated Evan's abdomen for a second time, working his way from just above his groin toward his thoracic cavity. Evan kicked his legs at the invading finger, clearly having had enough of things that poked. House's finger stopped on the right side on Evan's chest, just slightly below his delicate ribcage.

House swallowed hard.

Eli said, "It's something bad." Not a question.

House nodded. "Before, his liver felt fine. Now it's enlarged." House checked Evan's scerlera, whispering to himself. He was now the only person in the room with his son. The others faded into the paint and the dust on the floor. So secondary to his son were these people, they may as well have been shadows.

"No jaundice yet." House said in the empty room where no one else could help him. All hands present hung as useless ropes of flesh. He was a man educated in human beings and his hands worked because they still reached for hope. But in the end he knew what his hands didn't. There was little hope. Hope was usually a lie.

"Bleeding from his bowels." House muttered.

In a louder voice, he asked. "Is there a magnifying glass in this house or a small flashlight?"

Josh said, "My Thirty-O-Six has a scope."

"Get it. Take it off the rifle and bring it here."

Josh returned in ten minutes and handed the scope to House.

"Bring Evan to the window and tilt his head back." House said to Eli. "Carefully."

House pressed the scope right up to Evan's nostrils, the end of the thing covered almost half his face. Using natural light, House closed one eye and peered through the eyepiece. "Peteechia." He announced. "Tiny hemorrhages."

Josh asked. "You mean blood?"

House nodded. "They look fresh. Bright red and close to the surface. Means next time he sneezes, he'll probably get a bloody nose."

"What does any of this mean?" Eli asked.

House shook his head. He suspected in a miasma of misery and still clung to the uselessness of hoping he was wrong. If a patient gets well, they were going to. If they don't, there was nothing to be done anyway and hope is proved the impotent waste of emotion it really was. In either outcome, hope was baggage.

"What do we do?" Josh asks.

House crossed his arms, staring at the unwashed floor. "Nothing." House took a deep breath, shook off hope and the pointless storm of shifting emotions. "We monitor him. We keep checking his stools for blood. If he starts to vomit, we check his _vomit_ for blood. We watch for jaundice - yellowing of the skin. It'll be most noticeable in the whites of his eyes. We monitor his weight. . ."

"So we just _wait_?" Josh asked.

"Yes. We wait for something to change." Change would come. Change was a given now. It wasn't instinct. They had no instruments for finding out what this was to the hundredth percentage. They had few modern drugs. No machines to peer inside, no drug trials or theraputic treatments. No chemical therapies.

They had, however, oodles of time.

Eli suspected House knew more than what he was saying. "Can you tell us what you _suspect_ it might be?"

"Blood infection maybe. Severe enough, it could cause liver enlargement and some of the bleeding. But not the edema."

"Can we operate," Bobby asked, "I mean maybe you could look at his liver-"

"Do you see an operating room around here?" House said it as _I know you're naive but honestly! _"Sterilized scalpels? An oxygen tank? Anesthetic that won't stop his heart? Cause if we used even the smallest amount of too much - it'd kill him."

House's irritation subsided as quickly as it had ballooned. He was too tired to be annoyed. But he thought he knew what it might be. There was only one symptom missing and their only treatment, time, either would or would not reveal it.

Eli knew House knew or suspected more. "Can you guess?"

House sighed deeply, tired of the differential. "Guess? My best prognosis is..." House's voice finally, after all the terrible hours of his son's obviously rapid deterioration, got caught up in his throat and his eyes brimmed. Eli could see House was putting forth a supreme effort, probably the last of his strength, to keep himself from an display of tearful, fatherly anguish.

Eli loved so much and felt so deeply sorry for this man who had been brought here against his will. He had conceived against his will, given birth and was now, also against his will, losing his newborn son. _Yet he __**adds **__bricks to his personal wall._ _How he hides behind that incredible mental power._

Such personal power, such fortresses against the world, are usually sustained in isolation. Eli had seen it in other men before now. It existed in Josh to a certain degree. Eli had also observed that emotional freedom and human connection are almost always the first sacrifices to its rule.

". . .that Evan is probably going to die. The only thing we don't know is why."

XXXXXXXXX

Part IX asap


	9. Chapter 9

REMEMBER ZION

Part IX

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will probably never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

-

-

_But House himself would question murder labeled as merciful._ _There's no love like it._

-

For hours sleep eluded him.

When it finally came he was trying to run up a hill and his cane kept tripping him, sticking in the mud that washed back under his naked feet, sabotaging his ascent. Evan cried from somewhere over the hill too black to see the top of.

House fell and his hands sank inches into the fine, yellowish goo. The mud split and his cane disappeared from sight. House was burning up and the light of day was fading fast. Finally he was at the crest, slicked with muck and frantically searching for Evan, screaming his name though the baby could not, of course, answer him. Evan's cries grew louder, a sound to drive him mad.

When the rain parted for mere seconds, House saw him, the babe wrapped in nothing but a diaper, sliding down the other side. Evan's tiny body made hardly a trail in the mud, and the rain poured down to wash the mark from existence. House dived for his son but he slipped away, inches from his grasp, toward the sharp drop off that was not near enough to the bottom that it wouldn't matter if he fell.

If he fell, he was gone.

House ignored the screaming of his leg and pumped his determined left leg and his disobeying right as hard as he could down the treacherous downslope. He reached his son in time for them to both fall, slipping off the edge into a cold plummet of thousands of miles; they would never reach the bottom.

But the torrent mixed with the mud on his hands, making his fingers slick. Greased with the elements, Evan slipped away.

-

-

House woke in a sweat. In front of his eyes, his world inched from blackness to gray and finally to the awareness that there was indeed light still in the world. The dim quiet of his bedroom soaked up the majority of the faintest of light from the red morning sun just hinting at its rise.

Evan was there, beside him. A small warm body, softly breathing. Content.

Josh, on the other mattress, was snoring softly. The eastern sky pinked over from Vulcan red to bubblegum.

House rolled out of bed and gathered up Evan. He was safe in his hands. Not bothering to light a candle to see by, House moved through the dark of the bedroom. He knew the lay of the place well enough. His cane slept beneath Josh's mattress - really the man was paranoid. House respected that. Josh clearly had learned the lay of _him_ well enough.

But House didn't need the cane all that badly to carry Evan. He was no burden.

He carried his son gingerly down the stairs, one wooden step at a time in bare feet to the kitchen and lay him down on the table. Evan still slept and that was good.

House lit a few candles and sat in the early morning, waiting for the day to start. No more sleep if all dreams could demand was the terror of his son being pulled from his hands while his feet scrambled for footing on a mountain of ooze. Or almost dying but without the actual death. Dying without the death part. He'd had his fill of that already.

When the light through the grimy window was enough to see almost everything by, House looked at Evan and the dream was made real. His head told him what his heart already knew but had been arguing. It was wrong that punishments came to the innocent. Being born is no crime.

House traced one shaking finger down his son's soft cheek and stared with perfectly clear blue eyes into Evan's that were marked for death by a color of spring; Yellows on flowers are suited well, but in the whites of a baby's eyes . . .

House carried Evan into the living room, took up a broken piece of child's blue colored chalk and wrote . . .

-

-

-

Beneath the other words on House's black board differential, House had added a new one: JAUNDICE. A short sentence followed. Eli read it aloud: "I know what it is now."

That House wasn't actually anywhere inside was cause for great alarm, so Eli sent Bobby, Wolf, and Josh in three directions of the compass, and himself in the fourth.

He himself found the father and son. "Greg?"

House looked up at Eli and then back to his son. Both were sitting on the rotting steps of the back porch, House with his long legs bent, and Evan in his lap in a blanket that obscured all but his thinning face.

Sunrises were to be enjoyed on a porch.

Just not in this place. "Why are you sitting here." The back of the house faced east, the sun had almost passed sunrise into full-fledged morning.

If Eli supposed House was playing out some sort of sentimental last morning with his child thing, he was quickly re-educated. "More light here." House brushed his thumb across Evan's forehead. "Tyrosinemia. Hereditary. An inborn metabolic error. There's types One, Two and Three. In infants, type three causes severe liver disease. Cirrhosis. Evan will need a transplant to survive."

Eli's stomach dropped. His heart pounded. Greg appeared far too normal and calm to possibly be either. "My, my god. Are you sure?"

"Symptoms fit."

"Well, h-how long does he have?"

"Weeks. Maybe less."

-

-

House made the exact same speech to Josh when he asked the same questions. Josh slumped on the couch, rubbing his thinning red hair with one hand. "How could this happen?"

House may not have been the sentimental type, but he was still letting no one near Evan, not even his sire-father. "It's genetic." House explained wearily. He had come out of his zombie-like shock but was limping around in a circle, cradling Evan, his cane forgotten on the couch. "Tyrosinemia is inherited. Two parents must carry the gene to pass it on."

Josh asked, "Are you sure?"

House looked at the man he hated and saw, once again, that Josh, for all his self-serving lust, was still capable of being a human who could sometimes feel sorrow. Josh's eyes were watering. He clamped shaking hands on his knees to still them.

Seeing that, House felt even more angry at the man, since he now had no place at which to spit his fury. "Who's the doctor?"

-

-

-

"Evan won't eat." Eli said to House only days later. "He's spitting out his mush." Eli was fussing, crying soft little whimpers of discomfort at the spoon and every movement that traveled from Eli's body to his.

House was at his side in seconds flat. Eli was often astounded at the man's ability to move like a gazelle when he wanted to. House felt Evan's abdomen. "His liver's larger now. Distended and hard." But House didn't need to touch Evan to know that his son was dying. He could see it. Evan's skin, now, was yellowing. House took his tiny hand and examined his even tinier finger-nails. "Jaundice is much worse. That's why he won't eat. Nausea and pain, so n-no appetite."

Josh said to House at the newest prognosis, "But there'll be other children. They won't all get it, right?" It was Josh's version of comfort maybe; hope for something good next time.

House wondered how often he had sounded that indelicate and cold. This had to be pay back from god or something worse. _Something_ was definitely out to get him.

At least House could take comfort in the freedom to now unleash. _Fuck Josh and his hope!_ "Another baby could also get the disease." House explained to Josh. "Fifty-fifty any child from you and me will get this same thing and die like Evan's going to."

The words were scientific and reasonable. The diagnosis was correct. The pain was a blade to cut him in two.

Each birth had not diminished the thrill he felt immediately after the labor was over. No space of time at all between pain and delight. House had yelled and sweated and squeezed out inch by inch this one and half pound human, and found himself soaring high when he caught sight of him. Each one - for the first time, was magnificent.

Though House now stood stiffly, spoke the science words and feigned neutrality in all things of human frailty, he loved Evan and each of his children completely. They influenced him without a word how to spend his day, how to think new things and feel new sensations. They commanded him even more than his body did.

House hated that he was _that_ vulnerable. He said to Josh, "There will _be_ no more babies." The imminent death of Evan was definitive.

He was precedent.

-

-

House adjusted and re-adjusted Evan's blankets, making certain over and over that any covered any part of Evan that might get cold, was covered well. Evan had stopped eating two days ago, and refused water a day after that. Now he was awake but not crying, not fussing.

Eli brought food and water for the birth-dad who ate it and drank because symbols of mourning were an artifice. His shirt was not ripped nor did he sprinkle ashes on his head. House's scientific physician's mind kept the vigil along with his father's flesh-and-blood heart that was, unscientifically, breaking.

Everybody dies. It was just a matter of when. It was a matter of how.

Evan began to cry and set up a wail that House knew, by his diagnostician's ear, arose from pain. Too young to know how to control it or even what the awful thing that he was feeling was, or even why he felt it, Evan's cries continued most of the night.

In the living room House sat by his crib, his fingers curled in his own hair, willing the agony of his son to cease. There was no treatment for it. There was no medicine House could inject to stop the agony. There was only him.

House pushed himself to his feet with his cane and one hand on the arm of the couch. He made sure Evan was tucked well away and warm inside his blanket and he slipped away out of the house into the woods, until he reached a split in the trees. A long, narrow stretch of clear cut running with power lines that once worked full and plentiful; like nothing did now. The new bounty was the lack of you-name-it.

He followed it until his leg cramped and refused to go another foot. It was early morning again. House hated them now. The innocent colors and warming light were representative of no color or joy. They simply were.

House lurched a few more yards on his steadily worsening leg until it failed him and he was left no choice but to stop and sit down hard on his rear end. Evan, his cries all the time growing fainter, didn't struggle.

House unwrapped his son's face from the folds of the wool. He lay Evan on the rough ground, and got to his knees, leaning over him. House tucked in the corners of the blanket again. He would be warm at least. And he would feel _less discomfort _after. He would feel _no pain_ soon.

_I'm the doctor. We do this all the time. I've done it. _

House placed his palm gently over Evan's nose and mouth. He held it there, just above, barely touching. Evan's breath, shallow and coming fewer every hour, reached around his palm and moved the hairs on the back of his hand. It tickled.

House lay his head next to Evan's blanket, his nose on the grass, his eyes elsewhere. Nowhere.

He brought his palm down firmly on Evan's mouth and nose, blocking out life-giving air that couldn't, this time, do it's job. Evan's autonomic nervous system tried, however, to do its assigned task and jerked his body once or twice to dispel the thing blocking his airways.

House put a hand to his own mouth to force back his own explosive sob as he continued to smother his son in order to stop his pain.

A father's weakness got in the way for a brief second and House almost stopped the action, but then his hand pressed down once more, enough to kill but not to crush. Not to damage the surface.

House felt his son stop struggling. Evan's chest stilled. The tiny beat of his heart slowed, skipped, then stopped. House swore, even the flow of his son's blood he could feel come to a standstill beneath his fingers.

He had to be insane. Was that a tiny wind that had just brushed his rough cheek? Was Evan's soul heading out to somewhere far better than this place, and to a father who would never do this? Even as a favor.

As to the question of soul, he had no answer.

But House himself would question murder labeled as merciful. _There's no love like it._

House dug his face into the dirt and turned it to mud. He took his shaking hand from off his son's mouth and tucked the blankets back, covering his face this time. He kissed him through the blanket because he could not bear to look at the terrible thing he had just done, as reasonable as putting someone out of their misery might sound or even be.

A new definition of mercy might need to be coined, House thought. This world had re-written every parameters.

From rape Evan had come, and from love he was put to death. Suddenly Josh didn't seem so bad a guy.

As he had hated Josh in the beginning, so he loved the baby who'd come from him. Josh was barely tolerable. Evan had been faultless.

Something wonderful from something horrible. The numbers didn't fit.

Numbers didn't come into it.

House sat up. For a minute he looked at the stretch of clear cut that he knew snaked for miles over the mountain passes. The bundle at his feet that had contained his son was still. House looked down. He did not try to pretend that Evan had gone off somewhere to a better life. Though he had swore he had felt something fly away passed his cheek once he had smothered him.

House the _father_ did not let himself believe that now.

_Doctor_ House argued with the father of his dead patient.

_So you would rather have let Evan suffer until his last breath??_ _What kind of a dad __**are**__ you!? _

Murdering your own child, even to prevent suffering, resulted in a condemnation; not from God or humanity, but from self. _I was his __**father!**_

_You're being an idiot! It was necessary. He was dying. He was in pain. We had to do it. _

But the bundle at his knees made all such medical justifications mute. Mercy did not fit. Evan was too young to have asked him for it.

_You just bumped the funeral ahead a little. In a few hours he would have been dead._ Doctor House argued.

That didn't fit either. Nothing fit.

The patient was dead. House shut the mouth of the doctor and tried to ignore the inner keen of the father.

There was no going back anyway.

-

-

Eli met House halfway on the hard walk home.

Without a word, House handed him the bundled up remains of his son. With extraordinary effort, he managed to say, "We need to bury him."

House seemed much like himself but for two holes of grieving rage in the black center of each blue iris. Deep like cannon holes. Eli wondered what it would take to break through that defensive line.

"Where do you want this?" Eli asked, unashamed of his own tears, though Evan had not directly belonged to him. He had been part of House, and therefore deeply loved.

"I don't care."

Eli had no idea whether House was speaking of his dead son's funeral or all other things. It was impossible to know. "We need to get the others."

House looked at him sharply. "No we don't. No we _won't." _House turned on his hitching heel and gimped through a few dozen yards of knee-high thistles to a collection of Drunk-berry bushes next to some birch twisted with age. They were still a mile from home. "This'll do."

Eli followed him and stopped where indicated, at the spot House pointed to with his cane. "Why here?"

House was bent over, leaning heavily on his wooden helper. "Because Wolf doesn't care where it is and Josh doesn't deserve to know." House turned wretched eyes to Eli. "You keep insisting you love me? Keep this spot between you and me." Though House asked himself the question aloud, "Maybe Bobby should know . . ?"

Not saying one way or the other, Eli carefully laid Evan on the grass. "I have to go get a shovel."

House just nodded and eased himself onto the rough ground between clusters of thistles next to the body of his son. The thistles would discourage hungry scavengers, and they'd pile up rocks to dam off the rest of nature. It would be a pathetically small pile of rocks. Woefully inadequate for a two month old who never asked for or understood what hit him. A wrongful end for a child where the only thing he'd had any part of on earth was getting born.

The burial over, Eli remembered House was an atheist. He himself believed that there was something, of some nature, _somewhere_ that had started it all, even if it had been sadly neglectful since then. "Do you want,...I can-"

"Say a prayer for him if you want to." House barely said the words but he felt grateful that someone other than himself was here. More grateful that it was Eli. Occasionally, the universe did something right. "Just don't include me."

Eli nodded, bowed his head and delivered Evan off to paradise.

-

-

-

House ignored every demand of Josh's to lead him to the grave of his son.

Eli recognized it as House's final punishment for the rape and the forced father-hood that had ended like it had - just another grave. House wouldn't let Josh near him and Wolf was inserting himself into their disintegrating social network even less than he used to.

Eli and Bobby treaded lightly around Josh and left House completely alone at his request. Bobby was deeply hurt that House would not let him see the grave but nothing in the BM's face welcomed comfort or compromise. House was smoldering. Eli couldn't help but wonder when the fire would break and the damage it might do.

House nurtured his hatred for Josh until it was a masterpiece. He insulted Josh with creative flair and moved his mattress to Bobby and Eli's room. Josh was rejected from tip to toe plus everything in between.

As for Wolf, House ignored him as he always had, though he watched him often. Eli asked House about it one day (House still spoke to him in bits and starts), and House displaced an answer - "Professional hazard."

Bobby made meals and most days they ate in silence. Josh stopped asking about Evan and began looking at House once more with affectionate interest, brave enough to mention to his BM that other children might ease his pain.

House's disgusting huff and string of inventive words in reference to Josh, his mother, his father and his pet sheep left no doubt as to his feelings on the matter.

Eli supported House's decision in private, and in presence he hardly for a moment let House out of his sight. Though meat supplies were dwindling and they could use some new kills to supplement the food stores, there would be no second rape. If Josh wanted fresh meat instead of jerky, he and Wolf could shoot it themselves.

Eventually Josh went hunting on his own and it gave Eli time to breath and House space to be alone. Bobby worshiped Josh but would do nothing without his lead. He bided his time until Josh's return. Josh would never be without someone to love him as long as Bobby stuck around.

House had no ill for Bobby anymore, but he had no inspiration for him either. Neutral territory.

Wolf was another story and House spent considerable time thinking about him. Wolf seemed to have no natural drives what-so-ever. He wasn't just an enemy, he was an enigma.

-

-

One day at the kitchen table, "You're getting even clumsier. " Bobby remarked to Wolf when a jerking elbow pushed a plate onto the floor, spilling his fried potatoes and jerky across the dirty linoleum.

Wolf shrugged and watched Bobby clean it up with a child's beach shovel and a rag.

House stared at nothing. The wheels in his mind had gone turbo, and in a flash of medical insight, he now thought he understood all the things that had niggled at him about the human called Wolf.

When breakfast was over and Eli and Bobby were busy with tasks elsewhere, House lingered at the table, nursing some hot water with honey. No coffee here. Not even chicory. No clean floors or bodies he would gladly sleep with. No children. No Evan anymore. Nothing kept him here.

_Now_ he would leave.

"A couple of months ago, I finally asked myself why." House said; the most words spoken since he had left the woods that day with Eli; the afternoon of their secret service.

Wolf gaped at him. That House was actually speaking more than a single word to him caused Wolf's reaction seem more like a jack-rabbit surprised by a coyote than a wolf sure of it's power.

"The other guys all want to sleep with me. You don't and it's not because of Josh. You never wanted to."

Except for those first few days when he had assisted Josh in the attempted rape by tightening the ropes, Wolf had not touched him. Not once. Not ever.

There was no romance there. No drives to love without reason or even acceptable excuse. No chemical urges in Wolf. Wolf the anomaly.

Without the chemical whip, loving Wolf would have required a very compelling force. A barely inexcusable why. As far as House was concerned, chemical romance would have been the only thing in existence with enough power to bring them together, and even it had failed miserably.

So either Wolf hated him or felt absolutely nothing. The first might make sense. The second didn't. Wolf had never touched any of the other men either, and House had been subconsciously differentiating over it since his arrival, trying to sort it out. So many things, though, had gotten in the way . . .

Despite his near uselessness as a room-mate, Wolf had in one form assisted House - for which House was grateful. Wolf had been indifferent from the beginning and so House had mistrusted him from the beginning. Living under the same roof with him had helped nurture in House the hate necessary to have never abandoned the hope to someday leave. True he had hated Josh, too, but Josh's chemistry, at least for the rutting part, had mixed with his own like a sex cocktail and that was a thing House had little control over. Though the bringing forth of children had not worked out so well.

But the mutual mistrust and hatred Wolf had provided granted him just enough dissent in the hormonal soup of his body, that he had not surrendered to the inevitable affection for these men that would have developed, beyond his control, had Wolf's disturbing presence been absent.

All along, the race had been close. Simple Surrender and Flight-to-Freedom had been nose to nose.

House supposed he owed Wolf one, but Vengeance was in the running too, and gaining on the outside.

Wolf said nothing. House was not surprised. Below-the-surface medical suspicions were confirmed.

House wrote the symptoms across his mind: INCREASING CLUMSINESS. NO SEX DRIVE. DIMINSIHING INTEREST in DAILY ACTIVITIES. ABNORMAL DIPTHOING AND POOR ARTICULATION. They all fit. Especially HYPOSMIA IN ASSOCIATION WITH SPECIFIC CHEMOSENORY STIMULATION and, previous to it, DYSOSMIA.

That last symptom had failed Wolf the day Evan died. Probably prior to that day even. Now it was definitely confirmed because House had got away with a sick baby and _Eli_ had found him. Eli, of the _human average_ nasal ability, had located him. Not Wolf of the famous schnoz for hunting.

Which had become the key to the diagnosis: Wolf had lost the ability. His DYSOSMIA had turned PANHYPOSMATIC.

"You have a tumor." House said as though discussing the weather.

Wolf's started, his eyes stared back for a moment but remained disbelieving.

House chuckled a bit. "That always happens; the denial." House leaned back and crossed his arms. "You're the reason I'm here." House looked around the room, "I mean in this place. You sniffed me out. That's why you and your buddies were able to locate me in the house in the dark. It was your nose. Back then you could smell pheromones more acutely than anything else.

"Studies have indicated some people afflicted with dysosmia can smell a particular odor from miles away. You could smell me through the walls of the house. You pin-pointed where I was. Danny just got in the way - you didn't expect to find him there, too. And Josh decided to kill him because if Danny had been left alive, he would have roused the household and Foreman and the others would have probably just killed all of you."

House narrowed his eyes and looked away from the man who had started it all. The beginning of his exile. "Because of you, Danny was murdered and I was taken from my kids and brought here against my will. It's your fault."

Wolf did not deny or confirm. In mutual silence, they agreed it was true.

"I suspected there was something wrong with you beyond the creepy speech and anti-social indifference, and by the lack of any kind of normal sex drive. Bobby told me once that you and Josh used to be a hot item, and that it just dwindled away. But Bobby was in Josh's bedroom by then so it didn't matter if you weren't, and you didn't care anyway."

"I don'd 'ave a dumor."

House nodded at the odd speech from Wolf's mouth and sipped his chicory drink. "That nasally, muffled speech? That's been getting worse too. You're stuffed up all the time. You feel "full" up there, in behind your eyes. The pressure has been getting worse. You feel like crap."

Wolf denied nothing.

"Your ability to articulate has been deteriorating. That's why you're talking less and less. And you're getting clumsier, dropping things, you're no longer very steady on your feet, you can't do the things you used to. Josh and _Eli_ go hunting now, not you.

"That extraordinary ability to detect odors that other's can't? It's called a chemosensory dysfunction. Olfactory dysosthesia or dysosmia. It's a dysfunction in the part of your brain that processes odors. In your case the dysfunction was the ability to smell specific things _above _normal. You could smell me, but not food. That's also why you were hardly ever hungry and why you've lost weight. Being able to smell the food has a huge influence over appetite."

House had Wolf's complete attention now. House sighed. He really missed his work.

With Wolf's eyes getting bigger and more frightened, House calmly laid out his reasoning behind the diagnosis. The prognosis was arriving fast and the puzzle was pure for this one. House had no feelings about him. The patient was very ill.

_As long as it's interesting. _

"The dysfunction, and in turn, all your other symptoms, is caused by something in your brain malfunctioning. And _that's_ occurring because of the growth in your head. As your sinus tumor developed, it began increasing the pressure against your skull and therefore your frontal cortex. Now it's probably shooting its offspring right through the bone into other parts of your brain, making everything much, much worse."

_At least something around here lives on._ House watched Wolf's fearful swallow with tickled delight.

"But your smell suddenly failed you completely sometime last winter. I'm guessing around the time Josh started taking Eli hunting with him instead of you. Up to that point, you could probably smell animal pheromones in the rut, which explains why you were able to smell me. But one day last winter that came to an abrupt end. _That's _why you couldn't find me when I left with Evan. That's why Eli brought me home. You had no idea where I was."

"Yuh b'llsh'ddng me."

House laughed, shaking his head with satisfaction. "You're dying, asshole. You've got a month."

"A dumor cuddn' ged indoo muh skull."

"Skulls are hard, but they're made up of parts and have what we in the business call suture joints. Almost no movement but there is a tiny, tiny bit. Enough that there are micro-gaps along the line of the joints. Enough for a nasal tumor to work through if it tried hard enough."

House saved the best for last. "I had suspected something like a tumor or maybe Addison's disease, but I wasn't positive which." House tapped his cane on the floor in a playful display of morbid humor.

"So to sum up: there's good news and bad news. The bad news is, if I _hadn't_ waited to be absolutely certain, I could have operated and maybe you could have survived the surgery. We probably have thread around here that would make passable sutures. We have chloroform and a sharp knife."

Wolf spat muffled curses. A tiny shower of spit sprinkled down. "Yah fugger! Wha' didn' yah zay anythig?"

"Yeah, about that, see - I waited until it was too late because I _wanted_ you to die. I still do and now you're going to." House stood and limped away toward the front door. Outside was Eli and sunshine, and any direction on the map. House let his last words drift back over his shoulder like a warm breeze. "And that's the _good_ news. I'll bill you."

Wolf owed him one, too. His debt was bigger.

XXXXXXX

Part X asap


	10. Chapter 10

REMEMBER ZION

Part X

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will probably never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

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_Real love is not a transaction._

-

-

-

House by-passed Eli's eagle eyes, that lately never left him a minutes privacy, and managed to slip into the junk barn. He rummaged around until he found a good three foot length of pipe. Picking it up, he gimped to the metal shed where-in the freedom wheels resided, and began to strike at the thick pad-lock with vicious blows of the pipe. Again and again he brought the hard end of the thing down on its metallic cousin, but to no avail.

The pad-lock held stubborn. House felt fingers wrapping around his and turned to see Eli standing close. He had not heard him approach. _Sneaky bastard._

Eli didn't scold him or ask what he was doing - he knew what House was doing - trying to steal a motorcycle.

Eli gently tugged on the pipe. There was no cause to blame the BM for trying to escape. Who doesn't want to go home again? Where home had family and love, it was a paradise.

But Eli's fingers still asked, with respect, for the pipe.

House, out of breath from his assault on the diminutive tin barn, loosened his grip and let it slip from his hands.

No one had seen House's assault on the shed, or Eli's interference. Eli sighed relief. That was good. Bobby was busy at the river, Josh was on his hunt. Wolf was somewhere else. Where didn't matter as long as it wasn't here. "I told you, Josh keeps the gas somewhere else. Buried. Only he and Wolf know all the places it's stashed. Even if you get at the motorcycles, you can't get at the gas."

House turned away from the unyielding structure. "Can you?"

"No." Eli was standing very close. He had a warm body. His bulk was near, over-shadowing, and in some unexplainable way, felt safe.

But House didn't like the way that felt. He wanted comfort from no one here, so before his sex demon took over and began to dictate how soon he should shed his clothes, and how tight he ought to wrap his legs around Eli's wide shoulders, House stepped back. It was a deliberate, reflexive action, as though Eli had rendered a shock through the air. "What are you doing?"

Eli must have felt his own demon stir, because he stepped forward, closing that space of charged air between them. "Nothing."

The cool of the shed was at his back and Eli's hot breath fell across his face. His taller, solid presence pressed against him just enough that House could feel Eli's thick erection through the layers of their clothing.

And his own, growing one.

Heart already racing, after only a moment this close, House's flesh was fast making plans for them. "Don't." House whispered, barely getting the word out.

Eli stepped even closer and House could not move. Nothing obeyed. Eli was pressed right flush now, as much of their bodies that could touch, were touching. They were more one body than two.

His voice soft, sultry, "Don't what?" Eli asked. House could swear he heard Eli's heart pounding just as hard as his own.

The taller man's dark, full lips were just inches from his own, moist and inviting. House had to turn his head away to curb a violent ache to just lean into them, to let go and have Eli's mouth, and every other part of the attractive man, do to his body what pleased him. Do it for hours.

House shook his head. Only seconds had elapsed and, with each one that passed, it was becoming harder to command his body. There was a tribe of chemicals pumping through them both now, beating drums and chanting. House wanted him. His body screamed for him, his belly cried for the man's cock and the river of fluid that would erupt from it, changing him. Changing them.

House wanted that feeling, as base as it was, it was all he'd had for a long time. He wanted to step back and forward. He wanted Eli but nothing that existed in this place at all. Evan had been the only joy to appear here, and even he had not wanted to stay.

But mostly, House felt lonely and was ashamed of that loneliness. That he missed affection, or that he hungered for this male's hands and lips to start touching him in every way, angered him. House hated the tide of hormones that tidal-surged basic feelings already living beneath the surface. He was annoyed that he desired a steady bed-mate, and resented his humanness that craved and needed love just like everyone else.

"Don't . . ." House was having trouble remembering what to do. How had he stopped this before? What had he done with Josh? He'd insulted him a lot. And kicked him once, right in the crotch.

But the present head-on rush for sex had entered him and was wetting every nook and cranny of his body, sending sensations to every corner. A mind-weakening, lust to be fucked senseless had sparked. The fuse was lit and if he didn't escape now - right now! - he would explode.

"Don't . . .no, . . .I -- I said. . ._stop!" _The command was for himself. House shook his head again, and _made_ his legs move. He stepped aside then back two, three feet.

Then four and five. He all but stumbled in his haste to put distance between himself and the one man in the current shit-storm of a life whom he liked at all. Eli had been more friend than foe.

Until now.

With distance, the flood of chemicals abated and House felt with-it again. Enough to get angry as hell. The bastard all along had only been trying to sweet-talk his way into his pants, and House had almost fallen for it. Nearly unzipped his fly for him!

"You manipulative son-of-a-prick." Eli the pretend-friend had tried the chemical bomb maneuver. Get close enough to stampede over any defenses House had and conquer his flesh like a snorting bull.

Eli stared in shock. Instantly he realized what had just happened. Only seconds ago had they touched and now it seemed far away and long ago. But as weird as that was, he understood by one look at House's face, that he should not have allowed it. God - he should _not _have.

The headiness, though, being that close to a BM, to this BM whom he loved - smelling him, filling his own lungs with House's nameless fears, as frail as any mans, and terrible sorrow; his deep sickness of soul, had been too much to resist. So many things exchanged in that tiny space of time and contact. Eli had been given a taste of what he remembered with Jonesy. The unbelievable, fire-you-to-the-sun sexual experience that, until it was had, remained a legend or a fairy tale. It was a state not to be described or imitated, only absorbed.

Fucking a BM was, for as long as the physical exchange lasted, better than anything else in this life or the next. Tastier than the best meal or the finest, aged wine. Loving lecherous sex - outstripping anything he'd physically experienced before or since. It was a multi-dimensional orgy of sensations. It was the ultimate weakness for sexual craving but with all the power on earth to indulge it. It shattered coherent thought and released floods of tingling emotion. It was every nerve ending in your body firing all at the same time to make you feel horny and huge and virile - and a _god!_ It was damned fucking miraculous.

Pounding a BM, pumping your own life into him, making him pregnant and round and tight, was becoming the universal sexual creator. There was nothing that burned hotter or soared higher. And Earth needed her new babies. She wanted her BM's pregnant. Just thinking on it, letting the images pass across his mind, was steaming up the air around him.

God bless mother nature.

Eli knew, as did his body, that House could make him feel that way again. Resisting House all this time had been a personal hell.

But Eli knew it was all academic now. He'd stood there, listening to a stranger talk from his own mouth, speaking the seductive words, and watching as his own hands tried to put themselves on House's susceptible flesh and unguarded spirit, and he was shocked by his helplessness to stop himself. Absolutely he ought not to have let it happen. But he had felt the will, and the improper act that followed, emerge from someone else inside him, a man apart from the one he knew as Eli. Eli who loved without touching and cared for without hope of reward.

Because real love is not a transaction.

So overcome by his swelling need to drive into him, that self-correcting inner shock had drained away to a drip easily ignored. Eli saw House's face, formerly trusting (not completely but almost), morph into hate. "I'm sorry." Eli said. "I am. I'm sorry. I'm not...like him, you know. I'm not Josh, I would never force-"

"Bullshit." House spat. "You're no different at all. You kept me a prisoner here just as much as the rest of them."

"If you wouldn't be so contrary to everything that might give you some happiness, maybe it wouldn't have been so bad." Stupid, desperate words. The wrong thing to say. Terribly, terribly wrong. Shit! Chemicals ran the world. His one unthinking act and stupid words would undo every in-road he'd made into House's heart. It would erase the trust that had slowly been built up. It was the worst thing he could have said.

Eli cursed himself for the single moment he had let his penis do his thinking and talking. What he had managed to bring together with House over the previous year, his own cock had just blown apart. "I'm so sorry..."

House didn't take his eyes off him as he backed away. There was no trust there anymore. "Fuck you."

-

-

Josh's attention was diverted for several weeks when Wolf seemed to sicken almost over-night. He got very thin and didn't recognize anyone. He could not feed himself or speak. Soon he did nothing at all but stare out the window. That's when Josh or Bobby would prop him up in a chair, wrapping a twisted sheet around him so he would not fall over. Shortly after that, Wolf never left his bed.

The day came when he did not wake up at all.

House declined Josh's request for him to examine the body. "What for? Do you think I can do something for him now?"

"I just want to know what happened. Why he died. Can't you do an autopsy or something?" Josh asked.

"My diagnosis is: he got sick and died. End of story."

Even Eli felt dismay over House's indifference.

"How can you be so casual about death? You're a doctor."

"I'm not casual. I accept it is real as is sunshine and assholes. There is no point to mourning. Death doesn't cry over its dead and you're not giving _him_ shit. I hear the Grim Reaper takes his job very seriously. He hasn't lost a match yet."

Eli, seeking any excuse to talk to him, tried to appeal to House's sense of humanity, knowing it was futile. "Don't you ever wonder what it might be like to feel compassion or empathy?"

House saw it all coming miles away. "Are you joking?"

"I'm not like Josh."

"Then you're a shoe-in for kidnapper of the year." House dropped his sarcasm. "Why are you so worried about perfection, Eli? It's not like you'll ever get there."

"I keep after _you_, don't I? Just call me Idiot." He had to ask. "Why did you hate Wolf so much?"

"I only hated his nose."

-

-

Eli suspected House had derived some personal satisfaction from Wolf's death. Maybe because of Evan. Maybe because he felt some sort of justice had been accomplished for his dead son.

Eli supposed he could understand that, though with House as close-mouthes as he tended to be, it was pretty much only guess work. House didn't explain himself to anyone. House had retreated far away.

Josh cried a little and they buried Wolf by the woods. Eli erected a wooden cross and said what words Josh requested. Bobby tried to be sad for Wolf and Josh, but secretly, Eli suspected he was hopeful that it would mean he'd be back in Josh's number one spot. He trailed after Josh like a hungry puppy.

Josh walked from the grave, barely noticing Bobby. "He was my right hand man and my best hunter. Wolf was a goddamn blood hound. We're worse off without him."

House had avoided the burial and taken a nap.

-

-

"Fourteen months." Chase said to Foreman one night on the porch after Wilson and all the kids were in bed.

Foreman nodded. "Yeah."

"Do you think Wilson's okay now?"

Foreman shrugged. "As okay as he's ever going to be. No way to know for sure."

Wilson had begun joining them in bed again and they had returned to two or three-somes, or even good night sleeps, depending how each felt any given night. Wilson was back to making love with his old enthusiasm, but much more quietly. Foreman wondered if he still thought of House when he was on top. He sometimes still did. The problem was, the more time that went by, the harder it became to visualize House's gruff face, bracing manner, Popsicle-blue eyes, and tender, loving ass.

Foreman was sad with the realization. "I'm starting to forget him."

Chase nodded. "Me too." _The buggar had really brought something to this place._ Chase thought of his sons. They had his children. It was enough but not everything. But who ever got everything? Still, Chase could not believe it himself - he really missed the miserable son-of-a-bitch. "Do you think-?"

"-No." Foreman had guessed what his mate had been thinking. "Don't even go there. House is long gone. If we're honest, he's probably dead." Foreman looked out into the night. A half dollar moon made the wild wheat glow like gold. "Do Wilson a favor and leave it be."

-

-

-

"Don't fucking touch me!"

Eli heard the coarse words of House and hurried to the living room to see Josh in a drunken haze trying to grind his crotch into House and House, letting forth a string of curse words that would shame a pimp, violently striking at Josh's skull with his cane. He dragged the inebriated men apart and tossed Josh onto the couch, letting him fall any which way suited to gravity. With House he put a forearm against his throat and pushed him to the wall, holding him there until all the spit-fire went out of him.

That close Eli could smell the liquor on his breath as well. The two were soaked in home-made vodka. House wrenched himself out from under his hand, and Eli released him quickly, remembering their little tiff at the shed only weeks before and House's warning to never touch him again.

Eli hefted the abandoned quart jug of vodka and examined its contents. Only a few jiggers sloshed around on the bottom. By the glaze in House's blue eyes, he had imbibed an equal share, if not more.

Bobby stood in the corner, staying out of the way. It was the first time there had ever been this sort of violence here. It used to be a peaceful place. "Um, Eli . . ." Bobby warned.

Eli turned to see Josh was already back on his feet and bulldozing toward House in a sex-hungry, rage.

Eli tried to deflect him but not before Josh, pushed to the limit by House's razor tongue and his own physical drives, hauled off and landed a right cross that sent House down hard and square on his ass.

"That's enough!" Eli wrestled Josh down, this time not caring that his landing surface was a hard floor. Josh stayed down, nursing his head.

House was probing his bruised jaw with two fingers, checking for breakage, and Eli helped him to unsteady feet.

"Keep that slut off me." House snarled to Eli. "I'll fucking kill him if he comes near me again." House's eyes burned hatred. It was clear he had designs on keeping his word if he got the chance.

Josh was once again trying, and failing, to rise from the hard wood floor. Eli stood between them, a tree of man no one dared mess with for long. "Yeah, I kind of got that." He said to House, who ignored him, staggered out the door into the evening. Even in a vodka-numbed state, his leg caused him so much difficulty that his gate became a lopsided lurch across the porch.

Eli sighed. "Bobby, go after House. Try to, I don't know, steer him to the barn if you can. I'll come out later to check on him. It's a warm night, he can sleep it off there."

Then he turned to Josh. "If you so much as try to breath on him again, I'll beat the ripe living shit out of you."

Josh stared up with seething resentment in red-rimmed, hazel eyes. "No one tells me what to do with my BM." He slurred. The stink of booze on him was toxic.

Eli felt the hackles rise on his neck and his fingers itched to curl up and make good on his promise right there and then. "_Your_ BM? Yours??" Eli hauled him to his feet with enormous fists. Josh was lifted an inch off the floor and he gasped. It was his first education is just how physically powerful Eli was. "He's a human _being_. He belongs to no one, you _stupid_ son-of-a-bitch. You own nothing." Eli spit it in his face. "You understand me? Nothing!"

-

-

-

House lay on his side, curled up on a bed of moldy straw. He looked less like a drunk now, and more like a man in the throes of a severe stomach upset. "Guess I over-did it."

Eli sat down, making sure he was several feet away. "Were you two actually drinking together?"

House sighed. "Seemed like a good idea at the time." He burped, holding his stomach. "He was making noises of a truce. You know, peace and understanding and all that crap."

Eli frowned, shaking his head. About as un-Josh as pressed underwear. "And you believed him?"

House raised his head and looked directly at him. "No. But he makes good vodka." He lay back down. "I haven't had a belt in months."

Eli sighed and blew out a breath, making his cheeks fat. "He was trying to get you drunk, House."

House nodded. "I am drunk, just not enough to sleep with _him_ again."

"You're the smart one here." Eli commented. It had been idiotic of House. Eli sucked in a breath. He understood. "You just wanted someone to drink with."

House didn't answer. "Don't try and pigeon-hole me. I'm not that pathetic."

"Actually, you are." Eli crossed his arms. "But it's part of your charm." He had no real ideas on how to improve things. Personally, he liked peace and quiet. The hooch Josh and Wolf (and now just Josh), brewed and consumed occasionally interrupted that quietude. "So - you going to sleep out here all summer?"

"Maybe."

Which meant no. "Want to try it in my room? And by "it", I mean _sleep_ in the same room with me. That is, if you think you can trust me enough not to jump your bones once the lights are out."

House sat up. Too fast, his head spun and his stomach quivered. Eli was obviously trying to wedge himself back into his personal space. Maybe the thing by the shed really was just the rampaging chemicals. Maybe Eli was as susceptible to them as himself. He hope he could still trust Eli. Eli was all he had. "You'll stay on your mattress and keep those huge paws to yourself?"

Eli chuckled softly. Nodded.

House took his time stretching out his bad leg before standing, and noticed Eli looking at his crippled leg. He knew Eli had been dying to ask him how it happened. And Eli didn't disappoint. House felt some satisfaction in that he could still read people fairy well.

"Your leg? Car accident?" Eli nodded to his maimed thigh, the scar concealed beneath ill-fitting, dusty Levi's. The majority of House's clothes, the few items he had, didn't fit very well, being either too short for his long frame or too baggy for his slender build. Whatever pieces of his own clothing that had survived the Outbreak years, when he was on the run, had been demoted to rags years ago.

House shook his head and stood on shaky feet, leaning on his cane with two hands. "Bad diagnosis."

House said no more and Eli let it drop. Eli smiled. It felt good to have someone to smile at; whose company, as ill-mannered as House's often was, made for constant surprise. But House was still emotionally distant and personally defensive. Eli wondered who, if anyone, House had been close to in his life.

House opened his mouth like he wanted to confess. Eli held his breath. He wanted to hear it.

"I think, . ." House was not smiling. He wasn't looking at Eli. He was staring at nothing and his eyes, as close as House ever seemed to get to actually weeping, were brimming. "I think if I can't see my kids, I'm not gonna' make it. I'm not gonna' want...to live anymore."

Of course House wanted to see his kids. He was a father of six.

But Eli couldn't help but be selfish for him. He was a man of no-one.

He did, he really did want House to live and to see his children and be happy again. He just wanted to be there when it all happened. "How badly do you want to die?"

"I don't."

"So you don't want to die, but you don't care if you live?"

Eli was certain House's mind left the room for a second or two. His face softened, like a treasured memory had flashed up and bathed him in warmth. Then it was gone, and House returned to the room, the same man as ever. "You're surprised by this?"

Eli shook his head. "Give me a few weeks to figure something out."

House stared. Hope had just knocked. He didn't open. No way. Not yet. "A few _weeks_? Why-"

"Because I have no idea where the gasoline is. Josh and Wolf are the only two who knew where it's all buried, and now Wolf's dead. It's going to take time to weasel it out of Josh."

House was clearly disappointed, but he was a smart man. Smart enough, Eli hoped, to accept that sometimes, getting what you wanted took patience. "Are you really going to help me get home, or is this just some new angle en route to my pants?"

Eli shifted his feet and turned his eyes to the barn wall. Now he was pissed off. "I've _never_ treated you with anything but decency."

House stared, unsure whether or not Eli was speaking the truth or just pretending to. "Other than keep me here against my will, you haven't."

Eli looked at his worn leather shoes. One sole was coming away. "Nothing's been easy for anyone you know. I watched my daughter and wife of thirteen years die. I saw them take my adopted boys - my blue-eyed boys - away. I never saw them again." One broken soul confessed to another. "You learn to survive, babe'. So don't sit there like a priest, pretending you've never done something that hurt someone else. Don't try and tell me you haven't been selfish so _you_ could survive."

House looked away and it was enough of an answer that Eli knew he was right. "When I met Jonesy, at first he was like a son. After a few years, he was a lover. We were hanging on by a thread when Josh took us in. I owed him everything."

"Owed. _Past_ tense. And not everything. You don't owe him _me_." House said quickly. "I'm not yours to barter."

"No. But you and I need each other, that much is obvious." Eli knew House needed him to get home. And Eli knew his need for House went far beyond friendship or lust. It had become love, one he didn't think he could live without. Not anymore. So if House wanted to go home, he'd take him. And maybe, just maybe, be accepted there. "Even an idiot like me can see that."

The implication was if House denied it, then he was worse than an idiot. "Don't lecture me, mister - I went to college." House rotated his neck to get out the kinks or just shake off the discussion that was becoming far too personal for his taste. "So are you going to help me or not?"

"Yeah, I'm going to help you."

-

-

-

"What do you need the cart for?" Josh asked. Over dinner, Eli had casually brought up the idea of a hunting trip on one of the dirt-bikes, trailing the cart.

"We could haul back two or three white-tails, instead of just a few pieces. Right now we leave a quarter of the carcass behind. I don't know why we didn't think of this before."

Josh went back to his food. "I'll tell you why, because we can't waste the gas on hunting trips. What if we need to move someday? The well could dry up or the game disappear. Then we'd be stuck here. It's a bad idea."

Eli fiddled with one of the powder-dry biscuits Bobby had rolled out and baked that afternoon. Josh not only kept all the gas under his control, he did all the weaponry too. And only he knew where the ammunition was stashed. Eli's stomach churned at the thought of any food. A fly landed on the biscuit. He shuddered. Besides, there was nothing to put on it. Bobby didn't know how make fruit into jam and neither did anyone else at the table. There had to be a better argument.

Josh beat him to it. "If we want to kill more deer in one trip, we can always haul the cart ourselves. That way we save the gas and get the kill ratio. Using the cart is a good idea. We'll take it next trip."

Not the results he was hoping for. Eli looked at House nervously. House had a look that said I told you so. Shit was going to hit the fan, Eli knew. It was just a matter of whose shit and when _House_ would throw it.

He didn't have to wait long. "That's all you got?" House said to Eli.

Eli's stomach sank. "What the hell are you talking about?"

House lifted a stubborn chin Josh's way. "You're twice his size and _he _wears the pants. Why the hell don't you-"

Eli was on his feet and hauling House out the back door by his elbow before House had the chance to finish his disaster-sprouting lecture. He managed to get him almost all the way to the barn before House shook him off, twisting out of his grasp. "What the fuck?" Eli leaned in threateningly. "You want to get shot? If Josh even sniffs a hint that someone's trying to jump ship and take all the goodies with them, he'll haul out his twenty-two and blow us both new ones."

House stared back, defiance written all over him.

"It's only been two weeks, House."

"That's about a week too long. Two actually."

"If we want to pull this off, we have to _s-l-o-w. _And, by the way, malevolently staring holes through Josh every breakfast, lunch and dinner, is not helping matters. Or following me around as though we're planning a secret coup. He's not a moron. He'll get suspicious."

House had bloodshot eyes with bags underneath like canyons. Not sleeping. Not for days.

"Another dream?"

He nodded. "Same one."

Eli had heard, House being unusually verbose about it, though only to him. His children were sick and if he didn't get home, they were going to die. A bad dream for sure, but Eli was certain it had come night after night because House was on the verge of going home, and that's when everything usually felt the most precarious; when you were rounding the corner on success but not across the finish line.

"We'll get this done, I promise." Eli lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, then realized he was touching him, something House didn't want, so withdrew it quickly.

"I don't believe you."

"Come on. Let's talk." Eli steered his house-mate the rest of the way to the tumbling down animal barn and shut the door. The wide gaps in the wood, through which an evening breeze flowed freely, did nothing to stifle words. "I'll get the damn gas. You can count on that." He whispered. "But not if you keep opening your mouth."

Some of the stiff anger fell from House's shoulders and he leaned against the barn, more so to get his weight off his leg than anything else. "I'm sick of promises."

Eli ran a hand down his face. "Christ, you're impossible." He plopped down on a broken bale of straw. "Why can't you just be patient? Why is everything with you not now but right now?"

House said. "My kids are sick."

"Those are just dreams."

"Doesn't make them wrong. They're the right age right now for getting every childhood itch or boil there is, and I'm not there to help them. I'm a doctor - I _know_ this isn't some mystical mind reading, because 28 years of medical experience tells me I'm right. _That's_ why I'm dreaming about it."

Eli could understand House's growing desperation to get back to his kids, and that his own precarious hold on the BM was fading fast, though he realized now he never really had him at all. House was not a man you could control or influence in any way. You had him if he decided you did. And so you just as easily didn't have him, depending on the way his spirit blew him.

"I'll get you home, I promise, I just-"

House was not listening anymore. He fell back against the wall as though a stiff breeze had almost blown him over and the wall just happened to be in the way. Wrapping his arms around himself, he hugged his chest like he was afraid something was going to tumble out.

It was so painfully obvious that House was trying to hold in his human-father feelings, clamping his arms around messing emotion and imperfect thought. Keep everything in its assigned place. But to no avail.

Eli realized he was watching the House version of falling apart. He was witnessing a silent, still-as-cold-stone nervous break down. "I haven't seen my kids in a year." He whispered, barely registering in the range of a human ear. "You kidnapping, rapist bastards took care of that."

Eli's hopeless longing had influenced every decision he'd made since discovering his own love for the man. He knew that being here had slowly taken this man apart, and he was ashamed of his part in it. Life and purpose were so precarious in this world, you walked a perpetual ragged edge of losing everything. His own life was a good example of snail-rate gain and bullet-fast loss. He had not wanted to lose Jonesy, but he had. He did not want to lose his home here of four years, but if he wanted to help House, he was about to. By all that was worth living for, he did not want to lose House, but if he didn't make this happen, he was going to watch him vanish too.

Empathy met empathy in the leaky barn. Eli walked the few feet over to the BM and draped an arm around his shaking shoulders. "Give me time and I'll get you home. I swear."

"You can't swear. You can't do anything."

"Yes, I can." A enormous urge to kiss House invaded his reason and he cupped the BM's chin and turned his head. This time, he kissed purposefully and passionately and to hell with hormones. He wanted this. His mind and heart and his body, too, (though this time it took up the rear). Incredibly, House did not resist or even protest in any way.

Eli captured his mouth with his own again and delighted in a few seconds of delicious BM lips, then let him go. "I can. I love you. I _will."_

XXXXXXXXXXX

Part XI asap


	11. Chapter 11

REMEMBER ZION

Part XIf

By GeeLadyf

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

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_Life is shit. Love lands __occasionally__ and lays eggs._

-

-

-

House allowed the kiss, and when Eli pulled back a third time, "I don't love you, you know."

As high as foolish hope had soared, it plummeted with truth already known. No, House did not love him. Eli would become an old man trying to convince himself otherwise but, no, House did not.

Eli would not try and debate it, but it still hurt. If House never came to love him, it would become a life-long, mocking pain. Still, that kind of pain had its pleasant side.

Eli swallowed and looked away. Night was powering down the mountain-side, quickly, like it does in the high places. But even so, he had his arm around the man to whom he was drawn like a mindless moth to a deadly flame. House was letting Eli kiss him, and if flesh was all House was willing to grant, Eli would run with it - possessed - to the end.

Eli found House's lips again in the settling dark. Mid-summer warmth negated the necessity of a blanket, and Eli swiftly removed his shirt, laying it on the loose straw scattered at their feet. He faced House directly, inches from him, and unbuttoned House's shirt – one far too big for him - letting it slide to the dirt floor. House seemed to go limp, as though his soft touches had located and toggled a House's-Will switch. The BM appeared to have been flipped over from Resist-At-All-Cost to I-Surrender.

Shedding his pants and underwear, Eli lay the pants on top of the shirt, tossing the underwear aside. He took a second to glance out the one pane-less window, the shutters having long broken away. No glowing candles in the windows of the house was a providential sign. Everyone had gone to bed. They were alone.

Eli held House against the rough wood and searched for the clasps on his jeans. There was just the one button. Eli could hardly believe how much his hands were shaking, the button nearly defeating him. The zipper was trouble-free and dropped with a single downward pull. His flesh was tingling with anticipation, in fact, he was getting dizzy with the thought of what was happening. He and House. House and him. His flesh taking from and giving to this man he had loved for a year and, before now, had touched only once.

Tonight he would have everything. But his limbs were shaking so badly, House had to undress himself the rest of the way and Eli almost wept with what that meant. House wanted him, for whatever unspoken reason, he wanted Eli, if only at this unexpected corner in time.

Eli did not fool himself into thinking House wanted him for the same reasons he wanted House. The BM was upset and had been upset for a long time. Probably he was also in physical pain and had reached the emotional dead end of hope.

House was sick to death of loneliness and was seeking a connection before he went insane. Eli knew it but would serve.

In fact, Eli accepted House's reasons unreservedly. How could he expect more? What right did he have? He himself had taken part in every causality that had together brought House to this brittle state. The BM was a jigsaw of busted up pottery shards, loosely put back together though threatening to fall at the slightest pressure.

The man was still trembling. Eli swallowed a lump of fear. It seemed to him that House had wandered close to spilling his sanity all over the floor of the rotting barn. A frightening thing - losing your will and spirit in a structure no one had lived in or cared about for years. Grotesquely apropos.

But such a man as has nearly disintegrated held no ground against irresistible force, and Eli found all he had to do was indicate with the pressure of a hand or the gentle bump of a thigh and in response House moved willingly, in total compliance. It was wonderful and yet thoroughly served to put Eli in his place.

To House, Eli was rendering a service he had desperate need of. House was starving. Eli offered sustenance. House was accepting the free meal so he would not die of hunger. Eli's physical affections would serve to keep him in the here and now and possibly prevent a disassembling of his spirit. Eli knew that his touching and the movement of his lips on the other's, the hours of soul-slaking sex he was about to partake of, made him no more substantial to House than a blow-up doll. He was as far from his heart as ever.

Eli took no exception. House owed him nothing.

That is how it would be between them probably always - and so Eli continued putting his hands on the other man with the gentlest, most natural motions. He stroked him and caressed all body parts within reach. His two hands had been made for this day. This was more than everything. It was the only thing.

"I know you don't love me." Eli answered after moments of silence and exploration of mind, heart and flesh. "I know." He kissed him very deeply, taking his time and memorizing every taste and texture. "But I love you more than anything. Just know that."

House didn't nod or shake his head, he simply followed Eli's lead down onto the covered straw and settled with Eli's greater weight bearing down, pressing in, keeping him almost real. Close to a human whole; making him feel _something_. Anything.

Whether empty or full of love, Eli was there. House himself felt nothing but body on body and the long missed illusion of intimacy. "Fuck me." He whispered in Eli's ear.

Words to cause Eli to nearly come. He conjured every ugly image he could remember to prevent squirting like a sprouting teenager. "Oh, jezuz." He said through clenched teeth. "Oh baby, I'm going to fuck you so good. All night, all goddamn night."

House did not answer. He had already fallen into the law of his body. He would do whatever was asked instantly and with marathon enthusiasm. "Anything you want." He said.

Words ended and without conscious awareness of his actions, House wrapped his legs around Eli's thick shoulders, hooking his ankles together over the back of his neck. Eli gasped at the motion. If a train had hit him, he didn't think it would have given his body the impact of that simple, perfect communication.

"Oh-h-h-h-h-..." His cock was so hard and swollen, Eli swore it would split down the middle, but it felt so good. He released House's lips long enough to raise his head up and watch as he positioned his engorged penis over House's waiting entrance. In the glow of the quarter moon, the only provided light, he saw House's eyes burn like gas-lights - blue and hot and put there to start fire just for him. To serve. Perfectly simple in function. Perfectly beautiful.

Eli wanted to see those eyes the moment he entered him. Finally -_ oh-gods-in-heaven-and-hell-finally!_ - for the first time, entered him. Eli wanted that image to burn into his brain to the core. He wanted it as the first thing he remembered in the morning and the last thing he thought of in the evening. And the only thing he dreamed about each night until the day he died.

"Look at me, baby. Look at me with those alien fucking amazing eyes." He whispered. "And don't look away."

And Eli hoped House would remember his face as he shoved in deep; he wanted something of _him_ burned into House's retina's forever. He wanted House to know it was lust, - _oh yes!_ Absolutely pure, undiluted, undignified, animal-hunter, craving-flesh lust.

But love also. Give all, care for, protect with life, expect nothing, treasure always love.

Eli spit on his hand, waited, and spit again. He would never hurt this one. No, not ever, not a twinge of pain added now. The man had been fed from that menu for far too long.

In his fist, Eli held his cock over House. It twitched and quivered in his desire to plunge and never surface. _Oh __baby. My__ sweet Greg._ "I want to give you everything, everything, right now."

Eli pushed and the head of his cock shoved passed the tightness of House's hole. House's eyes widen and Eli's heart nearly burst. That was the look. That's what he had wanted to see, that surprise of sex; that sudden arrival of the expected thrill. No warning and then - _BAM!_

Eli pushed until his shaft had gone as deep as it could go. New sensations poured through them both, from one to the other and back again. This was skin on skin at its deepest. This was pureed hormones. A paradise offered up in the flesh.

"Oh fuck. Oh-fuck-oh-fuck..." Eli babbled as he began to thrust. When House let escape that first small moan of pleasure, it drove Eli mental. Irrational. He thought he had reached the top of the mountain, now only to find there was another peak, and another. He pumped and whispered sexy sweet things in House's ear, to tell him over and over how much he meant to him, how much he wanted him, how much he loved fucking him. How often he would do this to him from now on and to the end. He was fucking his whole body, his mind, his soul, his sex and very consciousness. He was inside him for good. House would awake changed; carrying just for him.

"I want you pregnant." He whispered. Eli knew House might or might not get pregnant. He hoped he would. Nature had done something wonderful when she made BM's. You get to fuck them with all its mind altering, body fulfilling orgasms, and then - for having the hottest sexual experience on the planet - you get _rewarded_ with a baby.

House responded by moving with Eli's body, matching his hard thrusts with equal up-thrusts of his ass, breathing in time to his, moaning in rhythm with Eli's words. That was as much of a turn on as fucking him was, and Eli moaned in response.

Eli kept up his steady pace, altering speed and angle and depth - he wanted to know this man inside and out, up and down, through and through and then he would start the expedition all over again. Until he was branded with its passage.

Eli filled his head with visions of House getting pregnant. The fantasy grew and expounded his lust and demand for planting himself deeper. A seed that would be sure to grow for him. One House would treasure and keep safe for him. Love for him, if that was as close as he might come to having the love for himself.

Eli let the fantasy ride. It ate up miles and time, running like a horny dog. He would come, spraying every last drop deep into the sweet bellied BM. One second he was fucking him, the next, mixing his cum with House's cells and the very next second, he'd be pregnant! Pregnant _just _for him and no one but him. Eli was drunk on the visions of House with a tight little belly, all because his cock had twitched and came and done this incredible thing. Fucked House with every last calorie.

Fucking House would change him. Capture something of him for all time. It was the highest cruise of the whole atmospheric trip of making love to a BM.

It was House beneath him in the dark, moaning his name.

-

-

-

House avoided him for days after. Corner turned and left behind. Fantasy ends.

Eli went about his routine sick of heart, letting his eyes wander to House whenever he was in eye-shot, wishing House would look his way just once. Where Josh had taken what he wanted ad lib', Eli had politely asked, been granted a sampler, and then thoroughly ignored.

Maybe House was trying to distance himself from the weakness of his feelings, Eli thought. He could always hope. Love was a terrible thing when it was used as poker chip or a balm for a raped soul.

Eli felt very low. Life is shit. Love lands occasionally and lays eggs.

Eli knew that as well as anyone when he had watched Jonesy's terrible death. His love and longing for House, not just to hold him and have him at night, but to keep and protect him; share his strength with him and do his every best thing to assure him long life.

House kept his own counsel and rounded a mocking huff whenever Eli tried to initiate a second intimacy. House had made himself stone on this place, and worn away the months.

Eli was considering his options on how to get gas enough to make a clean get-away. Plus some medical supplies. And a big damn gun. Now that he had the fluids of House in his system, staying was laughable. The idea of sharing House with Josh was an abomination. Josh for his few good points, possessed two dozen more that tipped the scales way too far in the other direction. Beyond recovery.

Rape was beyond it, too. From his dad's teachings, Eli knew that in ancient times, some cultures likened rape to murder, and punished accordingly. Rape was beyond recovery.

Eli now wondered what the hell kind of human he'd been all those months ago. Because _good man_ didn't cut it. Somehow the death of Jonesy had leached some of the humanity out of him.

Allowing that terrible thing, allowing Josh to perform the least offensive act of two - he didn't think he could ever forgive himself. He hoped getting House home might repair some of the damage for both of them.

"Hey Eli?"

It was Bobby, shuffling toward him. A skinny mutt with a bone. Bobby was a fellow you could grow fond of though, if only he wasn't so devoted to Josh that it blinded him.

"Yeah, what's up?" Eli was sitting under the large cottonwood, brooding over his plethora of problems.

"I, well, I . . .I know where some of that gas is."

Eli stared. "What have you been listening to?"

Not answering directly, "I don't want to see you go, Eli, I like you a lot. But I know you're going to and you're taking the BM with you."

"He has a name."

"Yeah, I guess."

Yes - blind. Follow Josh, think like him, speak and act like him. _Please don't become him. _"Why do you want to help us leave?" Though Eli had figured it a while back. Bobby missed Josh. As long as a BM was in his bed, Bobby never would be again.

"It's better for me."

Eli didn't ask any more. He got it. It was better for him, too. Best for House. "I'll need a rifle too."

-

-

Eli gathered up a third of the medical supplies, leaving behind the "alcohol". House had divulged his home-made spermicidal sneaks. Eli could hardly blame him, but he wondered if House had performed the same treatment on himself the morning after their all night barn rendezvous. House didn't look pregnant and it had already been a week.

Eli wheeled the cart out behind the westward leaning barn, hitched it up, and strapped on the gas tanks and their other supplies. It would suck up gas hauling not only their weight but the cart, too. Good thing the bike was a twelve hundred Harley, if a bit worse for wear.

Eli thrust the only clothes he possessed into a duffel bag and shrugged into a old Boy Scout backpack that had belonged to some kid back in the day. It was filled with Bobby's dry bread and jerky. He also filled two one quart water jugs with well water and tucked them into a small, pink girl's backpack. House frowned but strapped it on.

Lastly he slung the rifle over his head and shoulder, ensuring that the locking pin was in place.

Keeping their road trip plan on the low-down had not been easy, but it was dark and still and Eli pushed the motorcycle down the lane and out onto the side of the weed-choked highway. They walked a good quarter mile before firing it up. He was sweating heavily by that time, the cart's extra hundred pounds making his headway even slower.

House hobbled behind on his cane, struggling to keep up and in extra pain from the unaccustomed demands on his bad leg. But he was going home. If he could have, he would have left the fleshly baggage behind.

Eli swung his tree-trunk like leg over the seat and settled. He inserted the key into the ignition and prayed the thing would start. If not, they had wasted half a night and their chances of a successful get-away would thin considerably. Not to mention coming up with a plausible excuse for digging up the plastic gas cans and absconding with the goodies, namely – House.

His inner struggles became moot when the motor rumbled to life, and he sighed relief. They would not have gotten back home in time to re-bury anything anyway. Josh would have tied up House and probably shot him. Eli didn't glance back at the place that hadn't felt like a real home anymore since the murder and kidnapping.

Eli shook his head at himself. House climbed on behind and wrapped his arms around Eli's waist. "What?" House asked at Eli's shaking of his head.

"Nothing." Eli was pleased with the feel of House's hands clutching his abdomen, and his warm body pressed up against his back. Everything was okay. It would all right. "Let's go."

He was an idiot for not having done this months ago.

-

-

-

Josh loaded his 306 caliber, marched into the house, to the kitchen and aimed it directly at Bobby's face, right between his wide, terrified eyes. "You showed Eli the gas stash, didn't you?"

Bobby, hands wet with dirty dish water, shook his head, too afraid to open his mouth. If he did, Josh would know his denial was a lie. Josh could always read him _"like a dime novel"._

"I found an empty hole where four gas cans should have been. The cart is missing. You did it, didn't ya'? You let Eli take my BM and my kids to be, and my whole damn future."

Bobby opened his mouth, finally his mandible obeying him and not trembling. But Josh's finger was tickling the trigger and Bobby sensed a warm, wet, trail traveling down his left pant leg. "Please, Josh, I-"

"Shut-up." Josh already knew what the truth was.

Bobby obeyed and closed his mouth. He was staring down the gun's black barrel, and at Josh's aging face partially hidden behind the stock and the firing piece. Josh had not lowered the gun, and its sight was still on him, rock steady.

Josh was standing only eight feet away. Nobody missed at that range.

For a few seconds, it seemed like Josh was going to forgive him. Bobby smiled. "I did it for you and me, Josh. I-."

Josh knew that of course. Bobby loved him. The young idiot had done this for him, thinking he was somehow an adequate replacement. Josh looked at his thin frame and shaking hands, his greasy hair and foolishness. His hazel eyes and lack of a womb. Bobby had always love him.

But his BM was gone and so, "Stupid kid." He pulled the trigger.

-

-

-

Foreman wasn't sure what it was he was hearing. Someone sawing wood? He looked around. Chase was giving the chickens their evening feed. Wilson was on the porch, mending a quilt that had torn during some very cold winter nights when no amount of wood in the stove or hand-sewn coverings seemed to be enough. He himself had been in the garden for most of the late afternoon-evening, trying to apply everything Chase had taught him. He'd developed a pretty good green thumb himself. But the mosquitoes had started their blood hunt, always saving it for the cooler part of the day.

So Foreman sat on the porch, sipping water. He cocked his ear to try and pinpoint the faint insect-like sound. The buzz across the wind, as faint as it was, grew louder and sounded mechanical. But he couldn't be sure of course. Who'd be falling trees at dusk anyway? Even if he had electricity or gas.

Wilson stuck his head through the screen door. "Dinner." He called.

"Do you hear that?" Foreman asked, not immediately rising.

"Hear what?"

Foreman shook his head. "Nothing." He followed Chase and Wilson inside.

-

-

Ten minutes into a pleasant after meal discussion of their day, conversation was halted by the buzz-saw. It was even closer this time and Foreman knew instantly that it was no saw. Cold fear swept the room, because they all heard it now and knew its origin. "Men are coming."

Strangers. Unknowns. Danger every time. No one smiled and offered tea these days. No one had tea and whatever smiles were left were for family exclusively. Where every member was precious and every item a crucial tool, visitors were looked on with deep suspicion. It was the wise, unwritten law of the wild.

Foreman took up the old gun that had no bullets and stood on the porch with it aimed at arms length in the direction of the rattle that was getting louder and closer every second. Then noise rose and fell from down their tree-lined dirt lane. The deepening dusk made it difficult to see details, but he was sure he detected the weird clarity of the whites of a pair of large eyes above a metallic sheen; a wheel fender.

A motorcycle.

"Stop right where you are!" Foreman yelled above the noise. "Come any closer and I'll shoot - I swear to God."

The motorcycle slowed to a halt. Gravel crunched under its tires. All Foreman could really see was a pale coat rise and dismount the motorbike, and stand there, watching. Waiting. The headless bikeman.

"Who are you?"

"It's me!" Eli felt a fool. Why would they care to remember his name. "I mean, Eli." How much do you divulge with a gun trained on your left eyeball? "I'm one of the, we're were the ones who-"

Foreman remembered. The kidnapping, murdering sons-of-a-lousy-cock who had killed Danny and taken House away. "I remembered, you fucker. Get back on your bike or I swear I'll punch holes in you until your dead."

Foreman spotted movement behind Eli. A sound he had not heard in a while. Stick on gravel. Two feet and a stick, all three walking in a rhythm he never thought he'd hear again. "Put the gun away, Foreman. It's just us."

Foreman's hand flopped uselessly to his side like cooked spaghetti. "Jesus,...it's House."

-

-

Wilson had heard the commotion from inside. Then Foreman called him outside, and he was suddenly, out of the blue, staring at his long lost mate who had torn his soul out and taken it with him when he'd been abducted.

Foreman and Chase stood back to let Wilson verify that they weren't seeing a ghost. Wilson walked straight up to him, stared at him for a moment, up and down, taking in that not only was he here, but whole. Unharmed. Alive and gimping. Wilson ran a thumb down House's unshaven cheek.

To break his friend's mute relief, "I'll understand if you need to cry or something. Just let me get a towel first." House said.

Wilson laughed and dropped his head onto House's chest, then grabbed him in a bear hug with the strength of ten men. He stopped laughing and cried.

House sighed. Now he'd have to dry out the one lousy tee-shirt he had left. But he knew Wilson's need for it. He accepted it. He loved him. "I'm sorry." He said. It wasn't his fault of course, but that didn't mean Wilson hadn't suffered just the same.

Wilson nodded his head, smearing snot into the thin material. He snorted and hugged tighter, afraid to let go. If he did, House might disappear again, and this time it would kill him. "House,...babe',...geez, House,....I mssd-oo-zoo-mudg-don-leev-'gin..babe', god, House...bebe'..."

House listened to his lover's incomprehensible mutterings spoken into his shoulder, which was going from wet to sopping. "Wilson?" He patted him on the back. "Hey."

Wilson sniffed, raised his head and looked at him.

House didn't actually know what he'd wanted to say. But he ought to say something to ease his friend's sorrow. "I missed you, too." There. That would do. It also carried the charm of being true. He kissed Wilson on the mouth. "I want to see my kids."

-

-

House was a vision. At least that's what Wilson thought as he watched him holding his children, one after another.

House sat silently, picking up in turn Jordan, Reid, Drake, Gordon, Rowan, David,... looking at each of them. Remarking how they had grown with a mixture of pride that they were healthy (other than a round of colds), and sadness that he had not been there to see it. House wanted to learn their sounds again, and their individual cries and smells. The different feel of them in his arms, how unique they all were.

David spit up on his shoulder. House placed David back in the living room play-pen and wiped at the trail of vomit dribbling down his shirt, muttering regarding their daddy-cook. "_No_ evening bottle for David, Wilson."

A ruckus broke out on the porch. He could hear Foreman and Wilson (who had gone out to pluck vegetables to cook House up something to eat), and Eli, their voices rising.

House eased his weight back onto his sore leg with the help of Mister Cane, stood and limped out onto the porch.

Eli was being thrown his bundle of meager possessions. "Get out of here. You brought him home. Good for you. Now you go home, and don't ever come back." Foreman was furious. House could tell by his mate's clenching fists that he was itching to cause some serious bruising.

House walked out to where everyone could see. "Hey!" He shouted to get their attention. "I say he can stay."

Foreman stared at him like he was crazy. "What? You want your kidnapper to move in?"

Wilson shook his head. "No way is he staying. He and his buddies _murdered_ Danny." He pointed to a break in the trees. "There's his grave, House. They took you away for a year. From us. From your _kids._"

"I don't care."

Even Chase was flummoxed by that lack of reasonable answer. "You've got be kidding? You don't care that Danny was murdered?"

"Freaking out about it won't help him now." House listened to Chase's Aussie inflections with private nostalgia. He had missed the kid's sing-song. But that didn't stop him from snapping back. "Do I look like I'm kidding? Eli helped me escape."

"Really?" Wilson looked at Eli with saturated contempt. "How many months did you think about it?"

House moved a little closer to the top of the porch stairs where below Eli was standing in the dirt. He had his bag in hand and was waiting in silence for a verdict. Then he finally spoke. "Greg." He assured, "It's all right. I'll be okay."

House snapped at him. "Who asked you?" And to Wilson, "It's not all right. Eli stays, and that's final. End of discussion."

Wilson wondered if House had been hypnotized while he was away. "_"Greg"_? Did they brainwash you? You're inviting your murdering kidnapper to live _here_, like nothing ever happened."

House was tired. Bone tired and a little queasy from days spent on the back of a motorcycle that had taken its turns at conking out on the trip. It was only Eli's intimate knowledge of the ramshackle contraption that he made it home at all. "I know who I'm inviting, and my brain is just as dirty as ever, thanks."

Wilson shook his head. His brown eyes searched for an explanation, a sound motive; something to hold onto so he would not forget he was a peace-loving man and clamp his hands around Eli's throat. _Greg??_

Wilson was desperate to understand House's crazy insistence that a abducting _murderer_ make himself at home. Two terrible deeds deserve another, not a pat on the back. _"Why??"_

House sighed deeply. Bed called. He needed his rest. "Because I'm pregnant."

XXXXXX

Part XII asap


	12. Chapter 12

REMEMBER ZION

Part XIIf

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

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_Life was hard bitch for sure, but just once in a while, it forgave you._

-

-

-

Everyone present understood in a heartbeat who the sire was. A smile broke out on Eli's face that shamed the sunshine.

The strangled hurt on Wilson's face blocked it. "Yo-...you're _pregnant_?" Wilson lifted his sharp nose at Eli. "Are you saying its his baby? That murdering son-of-a-bitch? _His_ baby?"

House nodded, trying to dismiss the look of crushing betrayal on his friend's face. "Yeah." House found himself ill-at-ease enough to gimp quickly from the room. Wilson followed.

Eli felt two pairs on eyes on him who were anything but pleased at the news of an abductor's bastard child entering their tiny realm. Eli choose to stay outside as the three men followed House into the two-story.

He eased weary bones onto the bottom step and unhappily contemplated where he might be sleeping tonight. Or whether he was staying at all. Fear mixed with pride as he thought of House carrying for him. A _child_. A handsome son to hold and raise as his own. He would teach him to play baseball and hunt. He'd build him a fort in a big, old oak. . .

A terrible thought struck. What if they don't let him stay? He could not bear the thought of losing House now and bear even less losing his son. Not being able to raise that child with House would be a walking death. He had to stay. _He must._ These were good men, weren't they? House had claimed so. He was the father; the sire. It was right that he stay.

If he had to, he would beg them.

-

-

House heard Wilson's steps coming up the stairs after him, and he was not in the mood for a fight. "I just got home." He blurted as Wilson entered the room, a ready assault on his lips. House's pre-emptive strike calmed him down, slowed his zig-zagging feelings.

"When did this happen?" Was all he could think to ask. House was stripping off his shirt and Wilson wanted to cover him with his own body, make love to him and then go to sleep with his arms wrapped tightly around House, from now to the end of time. And then nasty image of Eli doing the same thing quelled any such inclinations, like a bucket of ice was dumped on his crotch. House was carrying the _enemy's_ seed.

House's whole body sagged. Whatever had happened, all that had happened which so far Wilson had no inkling, had almost beaten House. Wilson wanted to forget that it mattered that House had slept with this evil man, whose baby was now growing inside him. It ate his insides raw that House had succumbed to their pressure tactics or had, for some reason, turned to them for affection where there was none to be had. What love had he managed to locate in the camp of his assaulter's?

Wilson wanted to file the awful news away as desperate or ill-measured acts on House's part. A decision made under terrible circumstances. It was Stockholm Syndrome. It _had_ to be. Only Wilson couldn't quite believe it. House was too strong-minded a man to fall into line so easily.

The thought of Eli's hands on House, his cock pounding into him, left Wilson light headed with fury and pain. "Did he rape you?" He asked with the faintest of guilty hope.

House tossed the shirt, soaked with Wilson's tears and snot, in the corner. Someone would clean it eventually. Hopefully before morning. "No." He spoke with a great rush of air, like a deflating blimp. The fatigue was rapidly gaining the upper hand, its fingers curling about every fiber and joint, making each step he took, each word he spoke, and every blood-shot eye-blink, sluggish. He was a man slowed by the terrain of the last year, as though the last year had been twenty, and he was now ancient and bent over. He could drop where he stood and would not know the difference. "No." He answered finally. _So-o-o tired. _"_He_ didn't."

"No." The bitterness could be tasted from across the room. "No," Wilson said. "So you fucked him willingly."

There was nothing he could do about Wilson's pain. His lover wanted an answer but the only one House was able to give was that he had been close to doing himself in when Eli had followed him out to the barn. Even the hope of getting home to see his children, Foreman, Chase and even the ridiculously emotional James Wilson, had almost not been enough to still his hand. One big knife and a bloody _s-s-s-lice - _and all his worries would have vanished. Before he knew he was pregnant, he'd thought about it for weeks. Plan B.

House had no idea what had happened between these men in his absence, but he was too tired to tackle it right then. He shouldn't have to.

By the same token, they had no clue as to what he had gone through to survive and get back here in one, relatively stable piece. He could tell Wilson of several excuses - most would be true, or tell him that he'd missed him so much, he'd used Eli as a substitute. Or that he just plain had stopped caring what happened to him.

But the fact was, he had needed Eli that night. Wanted him, in fact, and did not regret one minute of Eli's attentions.

They stared at each other the way cheating lovers might, both men ready to collapse into each other or retreat. Neither moved. "Can't we take this up tomorrow?" He asked, hoping Wilson would understand that he couldn't answer him as long as Wilson's knowledge of Eli was so limited. Nothing he said would sound good enough; that he had willingly spread his legs and slept with the enemy.

"No." Wilson was in a year-long twist-storm of jealousy. Somehow with Foreman and Chase, it had been all right, them sharing a bed with House. Foreman and Chase were friends, and they had all gone through a lot together. Foreman and Chase were safe. For one thing, they understood that it was House and him who were closest; the primary lovers.

House mused over Wilson's double-standard. Seems Wilson was allowed to love whom he choose but House needed to ask permission, or love no-one.

"Do you love him?" Wilson was holding his breath.

House shook his head immediately. That would not be enough, though, for Wilson. House felt very sad. His homecoming wasn't turning out like he had thought at all. Now that he was standing five feet from his closest mate, he felt a hundred miles off from him. But he was too physically bruised to care, too mentally parched to give it more than a passing worry. He had nothing for it anyway; no cure, no treatment. He didn't even want to differentiate the problem. "I'm tired, Wilson. I need to sleep."

Wilson nodded and turned to the door to give House some quiet. House said behind him, "Hey."

Wilson turned back half way. Half support, half withdrawal.

House had removed his ragged pants and was folding them, a gesture he knew to be so out-of-character, it worried him a little. It seemed he was playing a part. He had no idea why. "This baby . . .do you hate me for it?" He was terrified of the answer but best to know sooner than later, so he can start the grieving and get it over as quickly as possible. He was a thread's width from having been hurt too much to make it through. He felt re-created, but into something wispy and untouchable. Smoke. Mist. Fog and the sun just off to the East, rising to boil him away.

Wilson bit his lip. "Of course not." He opened the door. "It's just that, right now, I don't like you very much. And I'll never, ever welcome _him."_

House lay down, pulled the blankets up around his neck and closed his eyes. His lids, swollen from days without sleep, scratched his corneas like sandpaper. He could feel Eli's baby growing in him, pressing down on his bladder, pushing his vas deferens apart and making itself comfortable for another three weeks. He thought of Evan, and the pathetic mound of rocks to mark his passing. House had cried a little for him then. Now he could not have conjured up a tear for a boat-load of starving orphans. Emotionally and mentally he felt overcooked and unappetizing, his heart a shriveled husk. House had nothing to give this new baby either.

Suddenly, lying there alone in the dark, there wasn't a thing he wanted.

Home sweet home.

-

-

-

Bobby he dragged to the forest and left for the wolves. Not because the kid didn't deserve a half decent burial, but because he couldn't do it by himself. Josh did pile some rocks on the body and mark the grave with a crude cross of sticks.

It had taken him a week to jerk enough meat for a three day road trip, but now he was ready. He strapped his two best rifles to one side of the bike. Each weapon was loaded and ready to fire. Filling the tank of his 1100 Honda, he started it up. It coughed and roared to life. Like him, it had seen better days. He strapped on the spare gas can to the back of the bike with many ropes, and though it might be a one-way trip, climbed on. He didn't care if he never made it back to the now empty farm.

-

-

-

-

Eli flushed when he caught his first sight of House's abdomen. The swelling was obvious now at almost three weeks, and House was unable to zip up his jeans all the way. He constantly pulled at the waist band of his boxers and they continuously defied his efforts by slipping back down below the baby bump to the feather-haired line of his groin. He was feeling fat and uncomfortable and grumbled under his breath most of the time.

To Eli, it was the sexiest sight he had ever laid eyes on. An already pregnant and showing BM was a powerful draw for a sire's cock. He wanted to run his tongue over that bump. Or see it grow to a much larger swelling; House carrying maybe _two_ babies for him. The thought of that made his cock ache.

The few words he exchanged with House each day was the only highlight so far of being in the BM's home front. Whenever the other men - in particular Wilson who hated his guts and was not afraid to let him know, entered the room, Eli quickly averted his eyes from House. No one was happy.

House was more withdrawn now than when he had lived at Josh's place but, incredibly, these men who proposed to love him either were too occupied with other things, or had long ago learned to ignore House's moodiness. _Pregnant men were always like that_ seemed to be their attitude.

House himself ignored it all back. He sat with his kids, fed them, changed them, played with them, ate the food Wilson prepared and slept. By simple observation it was clear House loved his children. Even contrary bastards had feelings, it seemed. But House appeared uninterested in anything else going on. Eli wasn't positive that House loved himself anymore.

It was astounding to him that Wilson had not picked up on that. Even with affectionate kisses and hugs showered on House (Wilson foremost as, Eli correctly guessed, he felt guilty over his former behavior), from all three men for days, until he barked at them to back off and give him some space, he could still see the deep sadness in the BM's eyes as he went about his day with his children. House had slowed and come to a near dead stop. Whatever he had to give, he gave to the babies. But he had little left for anyone else, and nothing for himself. Eli had seen it in Bobby when Josh had found him. Josh had become the only focus of his life. Flattering but unhealthy.

Still, what about himself? Didn't he love House unreasonably? He'd given up everything for him. Abandoning Josh may have been wrong, but repairing the wrong Josh had done was only right. Only he wasn't sure the _right_ had come to pass. Things seemed just as bad in this house as in Josh's, the depression among its members unnerving. Sadly, everything here seemed even unhappier.

Wilson passed through the kitchen without a word and Eli decided it was time to have to out with the man. "Hey."

Wilson did not pause or look back, deliberately rude.

Eli's longer legs caught up to him. He placed a hand on his shoulder to make him slow down and Wilson spun, jerking away as though Eli were made of acid. "Don't touch me."

"Then listen to me."

Wilson began to walk away again. "I don't have to." Eli followed him right to the chicken shed, and continued to talk while Wilson gathered eggs. "I get it that you hate me, but can't you think of House? He's really down over this."

Wilson chortled. "He's not down over _this." _

Something that might influence this stubborn man, "What about the baby?"

That seemed to drain some of the stiff righteousness from Wilson's shoulders.

"Do you want to see him lose it just because it's mine?"

It was obvious Wilson loved House or he wouldn't be harboring this out-of-proportion jealousy, but Eli didn't think the man was so consumed with hatred for him that he didn't care about House mis-carrying. "The stress could kill the baby." Eli didn't even want to contemplate what that might do to himself. "Or make House sick." He added. Everyone could see he was already that. Chase had been cautiously tending to him for days, trying to bring him out of his deep blue pit. "I don't want him to hurt anymore."

He counted, trying to ignore Eli. Sixteen eggs. Wilson could make a half gallon of formula. It was enough, since all the children were on pureed fruit and vegetables too.

Eli's looming shadow blocked out half the sun in the large doorway. "I'm not leaving him." The big man said. "Or my son."

Of course not, Wilson thought, if Eli was the good man House claimed he was. House was many things but he was not a man who'd invite a hateful person into his bed, into his life or the lives of his children. Eli probably was a good man, as they came these days. But no one anywhere was ever truly good. House's philosophy, not his own.

Still, Wilson wished for this new person in House's life to just disappear; for House to forget about him so things could go back to the way they were. _Which decade, Jimmy? _Wilson was weary of keeping his own angry silence fresh. Jealousy really was his worst quality. "Why did you wait so long to bring him home, if you love him the way you claim to?"

"I didn't want to lose him. And I didn't think I'd be welcomed here." Eli paused as though waiting for a response. When none came, "Looks like I was right."

Wilson turned and stared at the man he had seen as not only the enemy, but a direct rival for House's affections. Eli did seem to be deeply attached to House, much like he himself was. Much more so than either Foreman or Chase. They loved House for sure, but they didn't feel less alive without him.

Wilson handed Eli half the eggs in his hands. "House has given us six wonderful children. The miserable jerk's made living worthwhile again." Wilson recalled those first awful years of Outbreak. "Lots of people, after they lost everything, just gave up you know. Ran the streets like animals instead of people. We're lucky. We have a _family _because of him."

Eli nodded. "I know."

"If anything more happens to him, one more thing, one more wound, I don't think he'll survive it. I know I won't. If you hurt him . . ."

Eli was grave. "I couldn't live with myself." He stood straighter in the tiny shed, but his head brushed the ceiling. "Could _you?"_

Wilson accepted the gentle reprimand. He had been acting like a piss-ant child. He handed Eli the rest of the eggs. "Chase's put water on. You're about to be a daddy, so go help him cook up the kids dinners. He'll show you what to do. I've got an apology to make."

-

-

-

Wilson entered the room where House was sleeping with two of the children beside him. He was curled around their small forms, making himself into their snuggly cocoon.

House was white and thin and tired looking. So worn from everything that had happened, none of which he had yet spoken to anyone. Wilson had not given him the chance. _Wilson has been a self-centered creep_.

He lay down behind House, spooning him a little, but being careful not to jostle him awake. After a moment House opened his eyes anyway.

"Hey." Wilson whispered, curling his arm around him, running fingers between the buttons of his shirt. He could feel his sternum beneath the skin. "You need fattening up."

House said nothing. Wilson could feel his heart speed up under his fingers, though, and that was an encouraging sign. "You're right I guess. Eli is a good man."

House said tonelessly. "Yeah."

That was a little frightening, the flat quality of his voice, devoid of investment in the very words said. "I was stupid, House."

"Doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. I'm sorry."

"Okay. Don't worry about it."

"I love you."

"Same here."

"Are you okay?"

House didn't answer that one right away and after a moment of silence, Wilson wondered if he wasn't planning to. "I said-"

"-I had a baby while I was there."

Wilson's heart leaped to his throat. "You mean Eli's..?"

"No. I was raped, and had a baby."

So _not_ okay. House had conspicuously not brought the baby with him. "What happ-?"

"He was born with Tyrosinemia. Genetic. Failure to thrive. Pericardia and peripheral edema. Liver malfunction, melena, BRBPR, urinemia." House shifted his leg to accommodate Wilson's knee which had been pressing up against it.

Wilson was grateful that House was allowing the touch of that much of him.

"Lots of emia's actually." House added.

"What was his na-"

"-I had to kill him."

Wilson sucked in a breath. _Jesus Christ._ House's words literally jump-started his heart into over-drive. "My god. Did he suff-?"

"-I prevented that. Mostly."

"I'm sorry."

"Everybody dies."

House's oft-spoke axiom, Wilson recalled. Did House feel better now, saying that? Or believing it? Did it make it easier to accept Evan's death?

House was shaking now, the memory evoking things he probably had not allowed himself to think about until right now. Wilson held him tighter. House didn't weep or sniff or do any of the things most people would do whence confessing to a infanticide for the sake of mercy. He simple shook from head to foot, ravaged by his own private little aftershock.

Wilson tried to still the tremors by touch and soft breaths on his neck, wishing he could think of something to say that would help. House had been raped, given birth to a son and been presented with a choice when there were no good choices. He could have watched his son die in agony or stop his pain by....Wilson did not ask him how he'd done it, House was already twitching like a snapped electrical cord.

House had put his own baby to death. Wilson imagined he'd done it somewhere away from the others. He was certain, in fact, that House had handled it in good old fashioned Housian manner; shut down all emotion and sentiment, make the hard call, perform the act, and live with it on his conscience until it ate clean through his chest and out the other side. leaving nothing but a gaping hole.

Wilson had no words to fix that.

-

-

-

"House is a mess." Wilson sipped some morning spruce tea with Foreman and Chase. House he let sleep in. Sleep was one of the first steps in healing. Leave a wounded animal to sleep and sometimes its body would heal itself without any intervention. House would eventually need intervention. And many other things that Wilson presently felt inadequate to provide.

Chase stared at the rim of his cup. It was old fashioned china with the hand-painted roses and edging of gold. Someone had treasured it once. "Yeah."

Foreman didn't feel comfortable handling emotional situations, any more than he remembered House ever doing. Though, after several years of loving and living with the man, he'd come to see that House was actually far more emotional than most people. He reacted deeply, sometimes unforgivingly, to hurt or betrayal, lashing out inappropriately to drive the betrayer away, or retreating into silence, which more often than not accomplished the same thing. The difference was House was far more practiced at denying his vulnerabilities. "What do we do?"

So far the only thing he'd observed that had softened House was his children. House _made_ himself act differently for his kids. Differently enough that it was noticeable. Foreman didn't kid himself, though, that House wasn't still over-all the same man as ever. A stubborn, egotistical, sometimes self-loathing jerk. Damaged goods.

Chase cleared his throat and threw Wilson a guarded look. "Well, I think we should let Eli stay for one. He may have been with the kidnappers, but he didn't kill Danny and he's obviously fond of House." He did not add that House also appeared to be fond of Eli.

Wilson reluctantly nodded, hating that it was true. House was pregnant with Eli's child. It would be cruel to send Eli away. "House wouldn't hear of it anyway. I guess he stays." Wilson looked into the living room where six babies crawled around in their play pen, chewing on toys and beginning to curiously explore their tiny corner of the world. "He can make himself useful and start baby-sitting, so I can do more preserving for the winter." _We're going to have two more mouths to feed._

Wilson felt his heart twist into a rope of conflicting feelings. He desperately loved House, he desperately wanted Eli gone. He couldn't help it. "But I'm never going to be comfortable with him here."

Foreman and Chase expected such. They'd privately discussed it between themselves, agreeing to broach the subject with Wilson. It was now or never for Wilson to start accepting the new situation. House's health, and the baby's life, might be at stake.

"You know, if you took a second to put aside your raging jealousy, you might come to actually like the guy." Foreman himself harbored a growing fondness for Eli. The guy wasn't out to get anyone, he just wanted to be near his mate and baby. Hardly an unreasonable desire. "He helped keep House safe. He's been telling us some things."

"He could be lying." Wilson insisted.

"I doubt it, most of the things were about House, and believe me, the stories sounded like they starred the genuine House." Foreman played his second last card. "If it weren't for Eli, House wouldn't be here at all."

And Chase made the final play. "Sending Eli away could stress House into miscarrying. The obvious fact that you may not want to see that baby born aside, do you want to see House die? He's fifty-four years old."

Wilson had run out of counter-arguments. He was being selfish. He knew in the beginning that Eli would probably stay. It's just he had been deprived of House for a year, and now he was being asked to share him with yet another. Wilson was feeling cheated, but knew he had no right to be. "I know."

-

-

Eli proved himself an amiable companion and tireless worker. He also grew more and more alarmed as House's labor due date approached. It was only a day or so away and Eli paced constantly. It irked and softened Wilson's attitude toward the huge man. Time would prove whether Eli was the terrific guy they all seemed to have so readily accepted he was.

House cripped passed them through the kitchen to the living room. He had been getting up earlier lately, a good sign.

"Mornin'." Eli said contentedly, unable to peel his eyes away from House's belly. House frowned at the irritating scrutiny but said nothing back, only pausing to inspect his kids and check for wet diapers. For a few minutes, they seemed content. "Watch the kids, I'm going for a walk." House said.

Wilson was alarmed. "Where?"

"Just down the lane and back." House answered, peeved. "How far do you think I _get_ on this bargain basement leg?"

House's growling response was a distinctly good sign, and it eased Wilson's mind considerably. "Lunch is in an hour."

The feeble slam of the screen door was House's answer.

Wilson suddenly felt much better, greatly relieved that the old House appeared to have finally come home. He found himself smiling for the first time in weeks. He himself had finally started to feel like this was home again. It was a heart-lifting moment.

Eli cautioned a small chuckle, keeping his eyes, though, on Wilson, waiting to see if it was all right to laugh with him. He still felt the man's stiff back whenever they passed in the hallway or were forced to work together, like now.

But this morning Wilson seemed to be casually accepting his presence and even chuckled along with him, allowing Eli a small spark of hope that there may come a time where he'd be completely accepted here. He smiled wider. Life was hard bitch for sure, but just once in a while, it forgave you.

-

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-

House enjoyed the summer weather and the heat. It soothed aching limbs and their lop-sided soreness from limping around on three appendages as he had done for twenty years now. The ultra violet burn penetrated his wasted thigh muscles and gave him some moments relief from the deeper, abiding pain. He could feel the baby stirring now, almost steadily and he knew that meant labor was imminent.

He sighed. More pain, but at least it was the kind that went away. And for a few hours, it would certainly distract his mind from the steady ache in his leg.

House kept his eye on the uneven pits of the lane-way, watching for rocks and ground that might trip him up. He had taken this short walk many times, and knew by the number of steps taken that he was near the end of the lane and it was time to turn back. This far down, he could not see the house, and that alarmed him a a little. Once upon a time, he would have laughed at such nervous folly. Not anymore.

A shadow passed across his path. A coyote or a black-tail maybe.

But coyote's would be taller, and black tails tended to stay in the higher ground during the hottest part of the day, like now.

And they didn't carry long sticks.

House looked up to see Josh standing not twenty feet away from him, a rifle trained on his middle.

Josh spoke like no time had passed between them; with a mouth-full of rightful ownership. "I'm willing to bet my life that that thing in your belly is one of Eli's."

House remembered how much he had hated Josh's voice. The righteous arrogance of it. What the hell was it, House had often wondered, with those who claim to serve a god, any god, but practice vile things like their personal all-powerful heavenly commander was completely deaf or so blind that he couldn't see the contemptuous acts they committed? How stupid do they think their All-Powerful deity was? Either they believed their god was there but uninterested, or thought deep down that it didn't exist at all. A belief of convenience; to give them purpose or a reason for existence, whenever they felt the need. It was far more that Josh, and others like him, was in fact the God _over_ his god than the other way around.

House decided to cut to the chase. "I only sleep with humans." Let the fucker shoot him. He wasn't running anymore.

Josh seemed to agree. "You're coming with me now, or that baby dies."

"Which means I would die, in case you missed the Lamaze class. That's how it works. Trust me, I'm a doctor." Behind Josh, just at the edge of the woods, House saw another shadow. A huge one, watching; waiting for the right moment. He hoped they didn't wait too long.

"If that's the way it has to be. If you can't be mine, then you'll be no-body's." Josh raised the rifle to his eye and just as he pulled the trigger, he was jumped from behind by a huge black man. His personal giant had come to the rescue. House felt a sharp pang. Labor. He was going into labor. He fell.

Foreman heard the shot ring out and dropped the hammer in his hand. Chase dashed out the front door and ran after him. He was holding a kitchen knife, Wilson's largest and sharpest one.

They arrived not a minute after the the echo of the rifle-fire had died to see Eli pounding Josh's skull with the butt of a rifle. Foreman didn't try to stop him. It was somehow freeing to see the man on the ground, who had come to take House away again, dying ever more rapidly with each blow of the make-shift club. Josh's skull finally split open and blood and brain spilled out in a gory mush.

Once he saw the innards of Josh's head, Eli finally stopped delivering the blows and fell back on the ground with a soft whump, knocking the breath out of himself. He was sweating and dazed. Foreman walked over to make sure he hadn't been injured.

"Oh Jesus." Chase blurted, drawing all eyes to him.

House lying on the ground. Foreman realized he hadn't immediately thought to make sure House hadn't been injured due to the distracting violent spectacle of Eli's counter-attack on the shooter.

"Oh _Christ__!" _Chase said again and kneeled down over House. "He's bleeding - bad." By the time Foreman and Eli got to them, Chase had stripped his shirt off and was pressing it against a spot on the left lower side of House's chest. There was a spreading red stain beneath Chase's hands. Eli looked like he was going to pass out.

Wilson was the last to arrive, running up the lane. Foreman halted him on the spot. "Bring the cart. House has been shot!" Foreman stared down, remember a distant time when another man had put holes in his former boss, but back then Foreman had not loved House. Hated him, in fact.

Now, with the love, it was so much worse. This could bring the end all over again. There had been too many bullets and endings. It wasn't fair.

"Too many." Foreman whispered.

-

-

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Part XIII asap


	13. Chapter 13

REMEMBER ZION

Part XIIIff

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

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_Nothing like everyone's world coming to a horrific end to incite fellow-feeling by bare naked need._

-

-

-

-

"Hey, what-?" House said.

Foreman, above him, could not hear or, if he was listening, was ignoring him. House was floating above the ground on a platform of air. Grass and leaves whizzed by in a straw colored blur. Everyone around him was babbling an ocean of words thrown this way and that in a storm; incomprehensible. Now and again, when the steady gale of the blood rushing in his ears fell to a mere whisper, he made out a few sentences.

"Get him inside. Who was that?"

"-large caliber bullet - son-of-a-bitch!"

"-just leave him to rot."

House was vaguely aware of their faces, the men of his family, who all had suddenly grown into giants to fly him elsewhere on their stilt-like legs. Black men and white, all manners of eyes and odors. So familiar but warping in a fish bowl field of sight. Growing distant, faint.

Rot? House didn't want to be left anywhere to rot and his heart pounded. Maybe he was dead. No one was talking to him at all now. "Hey." His voice sounded feeble. He wasn't used to hearing feeble.

A face leaned closer and stared rudely. Chase, white and sweating. House recalled other names, belonging to the scared face hovering overhead and his own body: _Rowan. Jordan._

House frowned at the blonde's pinched features. "You look like shit."

Chase and Foreman exchanged glances. "You wouldn't win any beauty contests right about now." Foreman answered. "Just be quiet."

Black man was angry. Black man was always disturbed about something. House felt the words creep from his mouth. A meandering creek on a flat surface. "Why can't you ever chill?" Foreman. Stiff. Proper. Afraid of his own judgment. _Not afraid of me._ Fine doctor. Good dad. Other names belonging to them both floated to the surface of the maelstrom of flight and pain: _Reid. Gordon. _

A forelock of dark hair untouched by gray. Years and years and Wilson did not age. House found that comforting. Every year he felt less useful, more crippled. Except Forelock loved him. Always did. Always would. Years didn't matter. One name they had made together: _David-James._

The little guy wasn't here anymore. House couldn't remember where he was. The kid. Danny. Gone. Dead. A living gift left behind: _Drake._

"Rr-z-mu-kid-z-z?" Minute by minute his tongue was abandoning him.

"What did he say?"

_Shut up, I'm talking! _

Forelock shook itself back and forth.

House closed his eyes. Too tired right now to look or talk. He felt the bump of their feet over stairs, then sensed the cool dimness of inside. He heard crashing dish ware and was set down on a hard surface which shook a little under his weight. Around him, the cupboards spun in a circle painted white. The floor wouldn't stop heaving.

He made his sluggish tongue obey. It was hard work. "Th' tble?" His left side was getting very sore. Alarmed, he scolded them. _You morons! This is no place to birth a baby._ Was he thinking or speaking? Then he found and pushed a few solid words between his teeth. "W've t-eat 'ere latr-r." He could barely put two and two together anymore. _Who doped me?_

They all ignored him like he wasn't there. "Whz-z go-n-on?" The baby was coming, didn't they see that?

"You've been shot," Wilson of the forelock, off in the shadows, said.

House announced like they were all nuts. "No-o-o...the kid is comin' out."

Somewhere off to his right, Eli's voice. "Oh my god - is it?"

Foreman shook his head, and the motion made House dizzy. "Stob-th't." S-o-o-o tired.

"Get the chloroform." Foreman said to someone. Someone's feet hurried away, then back.

"You're going to be okay." Wilson said soothingly.

House was getting very frustrated by all the talk. "I've done this _before_, you know." Clear words this time. He'd already given birth, and tried to remember his children's names again. Tried to forget his children that had died. "Six'er...sev'n." Last words. Lack of light made it too hard to talk anymore.

"Mask him." Foreman said and House saw Wilson's gentle hand, obscured in white, moving down and down toward his face. Wilson was okay; he'd delivered babies before. He was good people. Wilson fingers touched him in all the right places. Kind hands.

"Chase and I'll scrub in."

Foreman's abrupt speech._ What the hell for??_ House wanted to yell at them for their collective idiocy but instead floated away on a sickly-sweet cloud. _Oh well. Sleepy_. But kitchen table. _Something,...something,....wrong...._

-

-

-

Foreman held one of only three razor blades they had located, carefully kept cleaned and stored in the bathroom's mirrored cupboard. The former man of the house had used an old-fashioned double-sided twist-top shaver and had left behind three un-used blades in a small plastic holder only slightly larger than the blades themselves.

Foreman had deftly broken the doubled-sided blade in half and Chase had fashioned a small wooded handle for it, lashing the blade to one end, leaving half the blade exposed for use as a scalpel. Foreman had sterilized it in fire and, after swabbing the area around the wound with the remnants of a brown bottle of Mercurochrome, was poised to cut into the slit-like wound where the large caliber bullet had penetrated House's left upper abdomen and exited out the back.

Wilson kept the chloroformed rag over House's mouth, every-so-often sprinkling another minute dose on the cloth when-ever it appeared House was stirring to wakefulness, and then placing the rag gently back down over his nose and mouth. Wilson held it in place, closely enough to keep House breathing in the anesthetic, but loosely enough to allow his airway access to fresh oxygen. It was a difficult balance. Modern chloroform was mixed with ninety-five percent ethyl alcohol, which stabilized it, but chloroform still acted on the vagus nerve which controlled organ function, including the heart-beat. Too much would kill their patient. "How much longer?"

"I've only just incised the wound. Keep your pants on." Foreman concentrated on cutting, opening a two inch incision. He had Chase hold the edges apart with his sterilized but naked fingers.

"Working bare-handed." Chase shook his head. "This is insane."

Foreman kept his eyes on what he was doing. "It's an insane situation." He said. "At least we have masks. Sort of." Each wore a mask fashioned from cotton boiled in well water. It was about the only reliable sterilization process they had.

Chase commented. "House was lucky he was shot with a rifle bullet and not one from a smaller caliber gun."

Eli waited at the other side of the room, a clean rag over his mouth to prevent germs from drifting across the room on his breath. They could do nothing about the air. Who knew what contaminated dust particles circled above them? "How is that lucky?"

Chase explained. "Because small caliber bullets are usually blunt ended, meaning they make a bigger hole and often take clothing and foreign material with them, directly into the wound. A small bullet can also ricochet around inside, punching lots more holes in the organs. But a larger bullet, like this one, will usually enter and exit in a straight line, especially at point blank range. Greater velocity means it goes right through. If House had been hit from, say, a hundred meters away, we'd be digging the bullet out. Means we'd have to open him up more."

Chase's knowledge of such things surprised them.

"My uncle took me hunting a few times." Chase offered as way of explanation. "I learned some things but when I refused to shoot anything, he gave it up."

Wilson for one was thankful Chase had gone hunting with his uncle. The young physician had clearly learned more about the accoutrements of shooting sports than from the actual participation in it.

Foreman inserted one end of a shortened straw, which had also been boiled for thirty minutes, into the widened wound just below House's fourth floating rib. He nodded at Chase. "Hand me the wash."

A solution of salt, soda and boiled - then cooled - water had been poured into a synthetic rubber glove, the open end having been tightly tied off with string. Everything had been boiled for half an hour in readiness for their home-grown OR, in order to destroy as many bacteria as possible.

Foreman rue-ed over his crude instruments. This was the first surgery he'd performed in years, and House was his patient. Foreman sliced off the glove's little finger and, with Chase's assistance, tied it tightly around the open end of the straw. "Make sure that straw stays in place."

Chase nodded.

Foreman squeezed the glove, forcing the liquid wash down into the wound. "Is it coming out the other side?"

Chase examined House. Their patient's left side was propped with two pillows, one beneath his left scapula and a smaller one under the lumbar region of his back. It was just enough to raise him off the table's sheeted surface, so the antiseptic flush could escape the exit wound and run off. The surgical wash forced the cleft of his back wound apart and blood and body fluid trickled out. Chase mopped it up with a towel sacrificed for that specific purpose. "Yes. I don't see any large particles except for a bit of clot."

Foreman continued squeezing until the glove was empty. "How's it looking under there? Clear?"

"Almost clear. As clear as it's going to be. It'll keep bleeding the longer we disturb the wound. Let's get as much excess out as we can and that should do it."

Foreman used the remnants of the liquid preparation to flush the abdominal side of the wound a second time. He gently pressed down on the wound to force out any remaining liquid that had escaped into the surrounding tissues. Then he sopped up the bloody fluid from the skin with a second boiled - and dried - towel. He paid particular attention to the aperture of the wound, where the bullet often took bits of clothing and any surface impurities in deep. Contamination from without was almost a guarantee post-operatively. Without meticulous surgical sepsis, infection was practically a given.

"Hand me the stitches." Into the back wound they would insert two or three stitches, but the front required several more than that. "I wish House wasn't so close to labor." Foreman said, inserting stitch number four. "If he gives birth in the next day or so, he's liable to rip these." A short zipper of black sewing thread was soon in place. A tight bandage wrapped all the way around House's lower chest completed the operation.

Wilson worried about it, too. That's why for the next several days House wasn't going to be left alone for even a single minute. He and Eli would take turns. Wilson would to sleep next to House during the nights and he wasn't going to allow anyone to argue. _Eli can take the day watch. _

House's color was good at least, he hadn't lost too much blood. His lower pregnant abdomen was flush pink and warm to the touch. It looked like the baby was going to be fine.

-

-

"I think he's running a fever." Wilson announced to his mates not twelve hours later.

Foreman put his cup down. "Shit."

Leaving Eli to watch the kids, the three physicians crowded around unconscious House lying on his sagging mattress. "Let's get this bandage off."

Chase and Wilson carefully sat House up, holding him in place while Foreman unwound the strips of cloth. Immediately they could tell that, despite their careful steps to prevent contamination of the wounds, they were infected. The stitches had almost disappeared in surrounding red, angry swelling. Given the circumstances of their operating theater, it wasn't all that surprising.

Chase said. "We're going to have to open him up again, flush it out and insert a drain."

Foreman signaled for them to lay House back down. "Cover him up for now." The three men stared at their patient for a moment, contemplating how to proceed.

"The problem is," Foreman continued. "We have no idea if this infection will spread to his abdominal sac."

Chase nodded. "If it does, House could miscarry."

Wilson shook his head. "But at this late stage in his pregnancy, that's hardly a risk factor for the baby. He's ready to come out. It won't be premature."

"Except we have no idea if the infection has already spread to him." Foreman said. "If it hasn't, bringing him out now is the right treatment. But if it has, House's parental immunities could fight it off, and so the baby could fight it off, since his immune system protects them. But if he's already infected, his only chance might be to stay exactly where he is."

Wilson did not like the sound of that. "But if he's almost due..."

"House's placental wall could already be infected. That means this baby's blood could already be infected. If we let this baby come right now, we have no treatment for him out here. He could be born only to die while we watch."

Wilson felt helpless, and furious at his helplessness. "So what, then? Wait until House dies?"

"We delay labor." Chase said. He had a look on his face that said _Idea bulb flashing - look over here!_ "Magnesium sulphate. It's a muscle relaxant."

Wilson nodded, rubbing a frustrated hand through his hair. "Right. I'll just pop down to the local drug store. . ."

Chase ignored his mate's sarcasm. "Epsom salts. There's got to be some here. No farmer exists who doesn't have Epsom salts." Chase added, "It also helps draw out infection. My uncle used to use it on his cow's hooves, whenever they got an infected cleat. He'd wrap the thing in in a bandage soaked with dissolved Epsom salts and have it stand in warm water for a few days." They seemed unconvinced. "I'm telling you, I've seen this work. In two, three days tops, the cow would be going fine again."

A thorough search of the house and all sheds turned up nothing.

"Shit." Foreman complained. "It was a good idea while it lasted."

Chase leaped up and lifted the wood trap door leading to the cellar. "It's where my uncle kept them."

-

-

After boiling well water in every kitchen pot and adding it to the cool bathtub water, Wilson dipped his fingers in. "It's good." He said.

One large sealed jar of Epsom salts had been emptied by a third into the water. Chase swished it around, and did the same again. "This'll keep his muscles relaxed, and hopefully stave off his labor for another day or so." He watched as Wilson and Eli divested House of his quilt and boxers, which was all he had on. "Wash out the infection from the wounds and hopefully give his body enough time to fight off any internal infection." Chase glanced at Eli. "He'll be all right."

The tension in Eli's face relaxed a little. "What about the - our baby?"

Foreman answered non-committal. "House is strong."

Eli tried to take that as meaning if House was strong, then their son would survive. Still "I shouldn't have..." He glanced nervously at Wilson. "I should've left him alone." Because of him, the man he loved might die. "He's over fifty. Shouldn't be having babies."

Irritated at the conversation, "House knows what he's doing." Wilson said more snappishly than he intended. Hearing how old House was, the danger he was in, and especially that he was in greater danger _now_ not only because he'd been shot, but because he was carrying Eli's child, still bothered him more than he knew it should. House was not his property. He could sleep with whom he choose. Or not sleep with.

Foreman and Chase lifted House's unconscious form into the smoky water. The salts had dissolved and the water felt soft and smelled like a mountain hot spring.

"Hold him up." Wilson instructed Eli. The man may as well be useful. He was here to stay. "Don't let his head slip under the water."

Eli nodded with a frown. "I'm not an idiot."

Wilson nodded. "I know." He was bone tired from hauling hot pots of water up the stairs and sitting up with House half the night. "Want me to spell you in a few hours?"

Eli nodded. "Yeah."

"Kids are crying, Wilson." Foreman reminded him. "I'll spell him."

Wilson could hear them of course. "Right." It was passed their dinner.

Wilson followed the others down to the the kitchen, hating that he couldn't be the one to sit with House, but his mind filled with concern for his hungry children. He started fixing mush for the kids and something more substantial for the men.

Chase patted him on the back. "Cook it up." He said. "I'll feed them."

Wilson was grateful that Chase recognized his discomfort with the new addition to the family group. A sensitivity Foreman often lacked. Foreman had been House's most promising protégé, and was far more like his boss than he liked to admit. Wilson wasn't sure if it was because Foreman as a child had started out like House, a mule-headed misanthrope, or had subconsciously come to emulate him through long association.

The world had taken those two head-butting antagonists, each with a mutual disdain for the other, and made them into friends, then lovers through the most stubborn antagonist there was - catastrophe. Nothing like everyone's world coming to a horrific end to incite fellow-feeling by bare naked need. Help each other and maybe live well, or go it alone and merely exist. And the chemical drive to breed their BM every presentable minute certainly didn't hurt.

-

-

Eli sat on a short stool at the head of the old fashioned tub. It was the kind on carved iron legs, so he had a good angle to lean over and hold House's fevered head and shoulders in his arms to keep him from slipping beneath the water. The bath was beginning to cool.

Just when Eli contemplated yelling down the stairs for Wilson to bring up some hot water, Foreman appeared at the door with two steaming pots. He slowly poured both into the murky bath to warm it up again. He returned with two more and stuck his hand in water. He seemed satisfied. "We ought to keep it nice and hot but not uncomfortable. We don't want his BP rising."

Eli recognized the medical lingo. He'd spent enough time waiting for his laboring wife in the hospital all those years ago to have picked up a bit of doctor talk here and there. "How dangerous is that?"

Foreman sat on the floor, evidently taking a minute's rest. "Well, pregnant _women_ with hypertension can have healthy babies without any serious problems, but if it's prolonged it can be dangerous. Gestational hypertension can harm kidneys, or it can cause low birth weight or early delivery. Severe enough, the woman could develop pre-eclampsia. Worse case scenario - placental abruption - means the placenta dislodges from the womb prematurely."

Foreman could see Eli's frightened eyes. "That's with _female_ pregnancy. We just don't know enough about male pregnancy to predict what hypertension might do, if anything. Men generally have higher blood pressure than women anyway, but there's no point in taking any chances." Foreman looked at House's sleeping face. The warm water had brought a healthy looking flush to his cheeks.

Foreman tried to sound reassuring. "House has already been through some serious shit and the baby seems okay, so I wouldn't worry about it."

He placed a hand on his lover's forehead. "He still feels warm but at least his temperature hasn't gone up. Like I said, House is strong."

Eli nodded, somewhat relieved. "After Jonesy I figured - that was it, you know? I'd never have anyone else again. I figured my chance had come and gone." He kissed the top of House's wet head with a tender brush of his lips.

Foreman nodded. For all the years he'd spent working and partying with friends - and bedding women - in his old life, this was the first family unit he had felt an intimate part of since he was a teenager. The first one where he knew he really belonged. Here, there were people to love, children to cherish, a future he could see and taste - one beyond just a career. "Yeah, I know."

After nearly twenty-five hours in the regularly drained, refilled, re-heated tub soak, each of the men taking shifts keeping House upright, Foreman had Eli lift House partway out of the water so he could check the wounds. "They look good. Pink and clean. Let's get him out.

Eli carried House, who seemed to weigh nothing in the man's huge arms, back to his bed and lay him down. Chase dressed and bandaged the wounds with freshly laundered strips of cotton sheet.

Feeling useless again, Eli asked, "Now what?"

The children were in bed and there was little else to do. Wilson leaned against the wall, the fear in his chest camouflaged behind tightly crossed arms. "Now we wait."

-

-

House awoke to find three pairs of eyes looking down on him. His muscles felt rubbery, his back stiff and his side was killing him, but what was worse was being stared at like he was an interesting growth in a petri dish. "You guys really need a hobby."

Terribly pleased, Wilson smiled, gently rubbing his right palm on House's abdominal baby bump. "We already have one."

"Like I said - sluts." He sighed, trying to sit up.

Wilson pushed him back down. "You lost a lot of blood and you're only hours from labor. You're going no where."

Exasperated, "I have to pee." He pushed up against Wilson's restraining hand. "This extra-large kid's got his ass sitting directly on my bladder." House glared at Eli.

"This is all your fault, Gargantua."

Eli smiled shyly. He didn't mind the insult. He _loved_ that House was pregnant. With the sight of his mate's bulge, House's corresponding gestational grouchiness seemed to melt away into something that didn't matter. As long as House's lower belly was swollen pink with his baby, Eli didn't care what House said.

Foreman stood. "I'll go get a jar."

Eli's grin just made House madder. "Stop that." Then turned irked eyes on Wilson. "Get me some food. I'm starving."

Wilson shook his head. "No food. You're about to go into labor, House, you'll just end up vomiting it all over my clean sheets."

House pushed the blanket away from his stomach and saw that, yes, his bump had dropped slightly, indicating that his body was preparing to push junior out into the cold world. "Shit." He stared at Eli. "How 'bout doing something useful, like getting me some water."

Eli leaned over and stole a kiss from House's surprised mouth. "Anything you want, babe'." He left to fetch House a drink.

House felt a small pang from beneath his rib cage. It traveled down his abdomen to his groin, then disappeared. He knew it was just the first tease of more, painful spasms to soon arrive. As much as he had loved sleeping with Eli, he had not counted on another baby. _Idiot! What did you __**think **__would happen? _

Suddenly he was angry that the hard part of having babies was left in his court. House silently cursed all twitching sire cocks from one coast to the other."And stop calling me babe!"

-

-

"This is taking so long." Eli made the mistake of saying only seven hours into House's sweating, yelling, painful labor.

House ground out between clenched teeth that Eli was an giant idiot from a long line of giant idiots. He yelped as another spasm took him from merely in pain to a cramping marathon of hurt, and slung a string of obscenities to them all. "Ow-ow-ow-ow-you-stupid-goddam-diddling-cocks. From now on, you can all stay the fuck away from me!"

Wilson ignored it all, as did Chase and Foreman. They had heard such and worse before.

Eli, however, paced back and forth, figuring his romance with House was as good as over.

Foreman had been put in charge of delivery, though for now was acting as merely a doctor-in-waiting. The birth canal had not erupted yet. Once that happened, there could be many more hours of labor before the baby came. Male pregnancy was as unpredictable as had been female.

"How long does it usually last?" Eli was foolish enough to ask.

House overheard of course and answered. "Am I going too slow for you? Are you bored? How about a game of Go-Fuck-Yourself!?"

Eli, suitably abashed, sat down on a chair to worry himself to a frazzle. "Sorry, babe'." He muttered.

House wasn't listening as another hard spasm traveled down his anterior muscles to push at his womb sack, encouraging the separation of it from his placental wall. Once that was accomplished, his body would tell the birth canal to drop and ram through his thinning perineum.

"Relax." Chase said to Eli. "It could be hours still." He recalled in turn the birth of several of their children. "House has birthed inside of ten hours, but once it went over thirty. There's no way to predict." He lowered his voice. "House got quite big with this baby. He's probably a little larger than usual; I'd say two pounds or so."

Eli felt bad about that. House was having a hard time because he himself as daddy was larger than usual, though Chase had been kind enough not to imply that it was all Eli's extra-large fault. "But he'll be all right?"

Chase nodded. "We're doctors. We know what to do if anything goes wrong or if the baby is delayed longer than what's safe. Don't worry."

A sharp yell from House interrupted all conversation. He bucked off the bed as a wet tearing sound could be heard. "Ow-ow-ow-ow-goddamn-son-of-a" House sagged on the bed again as his birth canal burst through his perineum, flopping out on the mattress like a rubber snake. Foreman gathered up some clean wadded up cotton and dabbed at the leaking blood. It would clot within minutes, closing any gaps around the canal to prevent any measurable blood loss.

"You're halfway home, House. Come on, now, darlin', just let it bear down."

"Shut up!" House snarled. "I know the damn routine. Easy for you to say, asshole, you don't have to do a damn thing. Why don't you try shutting the he--" House's tirade was cut short by another tremendous spasm that arched him off the mattress. This time he bit his lip to stop an involuntary yelp. Finally the cramp passed and he collapsed again, going as limp as a rag doll.

In between the caterpillar cramps, House lay motionless, sweating and allowing Wilson to wipe his face with a wet rag, and Foreman to bend his legs whichever way they needed to be bent to access his sweet spot. He was too exhausted to care. Wilson wrung out a cloth and bathed his forehead in cool water. It felt wonderful and was about the only thing right then that did.

Wilson himself almost never took eyes off of House's nakedness, and especially his swollen belly with the fine sprinkling of light brown hair, the twitching penis and naked pink balls, and House's long muscled legs spread wide to the world. How such a sight could look so hot perplexed him. But he didn't care. A pregnant House with a sweetly pink belly was something to dream about. A pregnant House, splayed out for them to see, sweating, giving birth just for him, doing this very hard, very wonderful thing - for _him_ - was to die for.

"Wilson." Foreman said. "the sheet."

Wilson wrapped the middle of a folded sheet under House's genitals and pulled up very gently to ease them out of the way. The ends he tucked beneath the mattress. Foreman had the room he needed to deliver House's newest baby.

Wilson well understood the reason for Eli's unblinking gaze, and he leaned in close to House's left ear to whisper. "I know it hurts, babe', but fuck you look so sexy right now." And even softer, landing a soft kiss on his ear lobe, "Give Eli a break, okay? He's really trying." He laughed, a soft colluded chuckle just between them alone. "God, you should see him. Sweating pounds off and three shades paler."

House relented a little but was in too much discomfort to smile, and too preoccupied sucking in great gulps of air in order to work through the cramps. "Th-the big moron." It was spoken without rancor, and Wilson recognized it as peculiarly Housian term of affection. "He'd better spoil me rotten."

An intense spasm bucked House off the bed and stilled any more conversation. He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. Nothing eased the cramp this time, and he sucked in great lung fulls of air trying to ride out the pain. "What the fuck is _in_ here!?"

"Don't fight it, House, come on, baby, just a little more." Foreman had the exquisitely small head between two fingers to steady and encourage the baby to emerge and, in time with the spasms, help it the rest of the way with delicate pulls on the narrow shoulders. The baby's head was covered in a crown of surprisingly thick kinked black hair slicked with blood and endometrial tissue. His skin was light brown; golden sun on olive. Foreman knew it would darken significantly over the next month. The baby was larger than usual. Probably over two pounds and thickly built like his sire.

With one more hard spasm the baby slipped from the birth canal and into his hands. Foreman turned him, cleared the mucus from his nostrils with twists of cotton and encouraged him to breath on his own with a few light taps on his back. Immediately, the new-born set up an irritated mewling, affronted by the tactile manhandling where before he had been cradled in a warm, dark cocoon, with his daddy's heartbeat a nearby muffled and soothing rhythm. Suddenly his world was now cold, bright and hard and he didn't like it one bit.

Foreman tied off and cut the umbilical, and handed the new family member to his giant sire-dad, looking on in frozen shock.

Foreman laughed. "Believe me, man, I get it." He watched Eli gingerly take the tiny bundle wrapped in a pillow-case, a hideous purple shade with a faded daisy print, and stare at his son with wide, scared eyes.

"Relax." Chase said. "It's just a baby."

Eli looked at every inch of his new son again and again, the diminutive features were too comical to seem real. Nestled in the warmth of the cotton and the warm hands, the baby settled down and drifted off to sleep. Eli couldn't wipe the ridiculous smile that suddenly spread across his face from ear to ear. His new son was absolutely perfect. The best looking baby he had ever seen. A blend of his own strong African features, wide across the forehead and warrior cheekbones, and House's longer, sharper bone structure in the chin and nose; though his own dark features clearly predominated.

"Hey, House." Eli said, his new dad words thick with pride. "Look, he-"

"Save your breath." Wilson advised. "See?"

Eli looked over. House was soaked in sweat and fast asleep. He looked like a wrung out dish cloth that had seen too many days.

Eli didn't like the look of House's complete stillness. Was he even breathing? "Is he okay?"

Chase nodded. "It's normal. Give your son to Foreman, you're going to help me and Wilson with House."

Eli obeyed, not understanding what help a sleeping man needed.

Chase saw his confusion. "_Hello._ House just went through twenty-three hours of hard labor. In a few minutes, his birth sac is going to separate the rest of the way from the womb wall and be shed. He'll need a bath and we have to dress his wounds, too." Chase added ruefully "All three of them."

Eli nodded, prepared to do whatever was necessary. Anything on Earth now. Eli had made a promise to himself the night he had made love to House in a dark barn in the middle of the BM's exile at the hands of his former mates and his own: he would take care of House until the day he died, no matter what threat. No matter _who _threatened. Because he had a lot to make up for.

A picture flashed up of Josh's broken skull and life-blood draining out into the dirt. How satisfying it had felt to make him dead.

Promise kept so far. "Whatever he needs."

-

-

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Part XIV asap


	14. Chapter 14

REMEMBER ZION

Part XIV

By GeeLadyf

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heavenf

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

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_"Sausage Party" had taken on an entirely new and sexier meaning. No one missed Cheeto's and Trivial Pursuit. _

-

-

-

"I feel like I gave birth to a rhino." House stared at Eli with brows drawn together into an eagle-eyed glare and a frown on his lips that reached to China. "A _black_ rhino."

"They're not actually named for their skin color." Eli said.

His left side ached with every shift on the mattress and his back hurt. It was the hardest labor he could remember so far.

Deeply sarcastic - "Thank you, Mutual of Omaha." House lay back against the pillows. The minute he had felt strong enough to sit up, like Houdini Eli had magically appeared out of thin air and lovingly piled the softest pillows behind him. His massive bodied impregnator had been waiting on him hand and foot ever since.

In the large bedroom, Eli hovered between House and the new baby crib containing his new son. The big man was a flitting bee forever buzzing back and forth between House, his son and the kitchen to fetch whatever food, drink or any other want House demanded at any and all unpredictable moments.

House gestured to his new son, and Eli fetched him for House to hold. Two or three times an hour, House wanted to hold his new baby, as though he was afraid if he didn't keep a close eye on him, the tiny thing might vanish from his sight.

Eli loved seeing his baby in the arms of the man who gave birth to him. "You both look beautiful." Eli said, his heart soaking up the domestic scene like a dry sponge in the rain, looking at House with big, happy eyes.

"Oh my god." House groaned. "I am not _beautiful_! Would you go find a kitten to rescue or something - you're driving me nuts. Wilson'll do your hair if you praise his meat loaf."

Eli sighed. He had almost gotten used to his lover's strongly anti-sentimental, almost juvenile peculiarities to anything that smacked of feelings. "Just telling it like it is, babe'. You look sexy as hell with my baby in your arms."

House threw a shoe at him as Eli left on cloud-lifted size fourteens.

"_And stop_ calling me babe'!"

Eli returned with a cool drink of water and a bowl of stew.

House grudgingly handed the baby to its sire father and gobbled the stew, grateful to Wilson's magic fingers that could turn any ordinary lunch fare into a work of culinary art. He set the bowl aside and muttered a thank you to Eli.

This time free of sentimentality. "How are you feeling?" Eli asked. "Really?"

House felt much stronger, but his abdominal muscles had done a thirty-three hour marathon and he still felt the remnant sting of his split perineum. At two days post-labor, that's all he needed to be convinced that this baby was the last pregnancy ever. He was too old, too impatient and too damn sore to put up with any more. "My ass is killing me." He confessed to Eli. "And by ass, I don't mean ass. Feels like someone with feet twice your size kicked me in the nads."

His lower half then, was sore. Eli felt useless. He could fluff pillows and fetch food and try not to bore his educated doctor-lover while he kept him company. The pain he could do nothing about. "Can I get you anything else, babe'?"

House scooted lower in the bed, tossing some of the pillows aside. He was bone tired, and didn't bother to correct Eli yet again on the unwanted term of affection. "No. I just want to sleep."

Eli pulled the thick quilt lovingly sewn by Grannie from some other decade up to House's shoulders, but hovered by the bed longer than he needed to.

House sensed the big guys presence from behind closed eyelids. "What?"

"What do you want to name 'im?"

House's eyes snapped open. Between the uncomfortably heavy pregnancy, the being shot and his extra painful labor, he had not even put aside a minute to think about it. He puzzled for a few seconds and drew a blank. Finally looking at Eli, he spotted the quiet hope in his new mate's eyes. "What do _you_ want to name him?"

Eli opened his mouth but House interrupted. "If you say Kunta, you're a dead man."

Eli smiled a little at that and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped so low under his weight, House rolled toward him a little. He was endlessly surprised by the sheer muscled bulk of the man. No wonder his lower quarters felt like someone had roto-rootered him. "Just spill it."

"I was thinking maybe Reuben."

House was pleasantly surprised. "Hmm. Better than I thought you'd come up with." A damn sight better. House rolled it around on his tongue. He had half expected some tongue twisting African moniker or, even worse, some goddawful label the kid could never live down, like Abner or Virgil. "Suppose that'll do I guess."

No argument. Eli had come to recognize that no mocking meant House-approved. He leaned over and kissed House on the mouth, taking his leisure.

When he was done, House narrow-eyed him. "If you're thinking of crawling in here with me, you can march that dick to the door and close it behind him."

Eli smiled. "No, I 'aint." Eli did march to the door. "Not until you're all healed up, babe'. Then - watch out."

-

-

Reuben was settled into the routine of feedings, diaper changes and play-time that Wilson and House had long established. Eli felt a little disappointed that he couldn't spend as much time cuddling Reuben as he wanted to.

"The kids have to follow a schedule or they get spoiled." Wilson explained. "No one here has time to spoil anyone. They get play time, they get all the food they need and they get loved, but they don't get coddled."

Over the next two months of sweating fall chores, Eli came to understand how such regimented child rearing was not a decision of choice but, rather, of no-choice. There was simply too much to do on a daily basis to fuss over anyone.

The sole exception to that rule was House. They all liked to fuss over him in one way or another. But, for all the gentle competition between his house-mates for House's particular brand of affection, no one displayed any significant marks of jealousy. For one thing, Eli believed House would never have tolerated it and secondly, such behaviors would do more to drive House away than flatter him.

House was no fool. He despised sentiment, though Eli was convinced the BM loved every one of his mates to some private degree or other. What those degrees were, House kept very much to himself.

Eli hoped he figured somewhere in the calculations.

As to House's physical displays of affection, it was clear that House held all the power there. Some time ago, as Chase had explained (in fact, he'd pulled out the pencil-checkered graph), House had drawn up a _chart_ of which nights were who's with him, and which were his alone. No one tried crossing the BM on it because House was adamant. And if he wanted you an extra night, no one questioned that either. If he didn't want you for a few weeks, you sat on your balls until House tossed a casual nod your way and spent half the night convincing you that he had missed you so badly, he would have died if it had been one more minute. He re-introduced himself to your cock and you knew he loved yours the most. Your driving, pounding penis was the biggest and the hardest. You were the best fuck in the whole state.

Eli liked those nights the most. The times when his night was put off a while just made him anticipate it all the more when the night came around when House nodded his way. The BM sent him to heaven those nights. Those nights Eli was a king. The condoms he was made to wear dulled the sensations a little but the wisdom of them was obvious.

The work to make those condoms was like party night at the bar, only instead of drinking beer and playing cards, they'd sit around he kitchen table downing home-made vodka, tyeing off one end of dried sections of wild pig entrails. Chase had nurtured and bred a pair of captured wild hogs into a sizable herd of swine for the dinner table. And for the condoms.

The fun lay in the conversations as to size and strength of the dried pig intestine and who would be using this bigger section or that stretchier one. House came up with ever more insulting jokes on their behalf over the terms related to pig, penis, condoms and their collective shameless lechery.

"Sausage Party" had taken on an entirely new and sexier meaning. No one missed Cheeto's and Trivial Pursuit.

-

-

"Do you love him?" Wilson asked.

House spread a layered triangle of cotton under Reuben's adorably tiny but chubby backside. He folded the three corners and fastened it together at the front. Chase had carved fifty small wood buttons and Wilson had fastening a single button to one corner of each diaper. House passed that button through button holes on the other corners, holding it all in place with a loop of string Wilson had also painstakingly attached to every diaper in the house. Three sizes of diapers so far were in use. Soon the babies would need clothes.

Eli had suggested a foray on the motorcycle to some nearby farms to procure a larger wardrobe for everyone. He and House had taken off one morning and brought back a huge duffel bag full of clothing of all sizes. No baby clothes, but some younger child's clothes that Wilson could easily take in when the boys were big enough to wear them. In the meantime, they crawled around in diapers, Chase's smallest t-shirts on their tiny backs and man-socks on their little legs to keep out the chill. The ensembles were no fashion statement, but they served the purpose and were, in a strange way, heart-tickling.

Wilson was learning to be grateful that Eli had come home with House, and with the motorcycle. The man was a useful and reliable companion. His one glaring fault was he spent way too much time with House. Even worse was that House let him.

House was sick of the question. "So what if I do? Are you going to pout about it?"

Wilson knew he sounded like a frivolous teen. "It hurts me."

House shook that off like dandruff. "_You_ hurt you. I haven't done a thing to you for a _year_."

"I missed you."

Sighing, House finished Reuben's diaper change and tossed the soiled one into a nearby wash bin sitting in the corner of the living room. The smell of baby poop permeated the air. "Can you open a window?"

Wilson complied automatically, but wasn't dropping the discussion. "I don't mean that, exactly, I-."

"What do you mean? _Exactly?_ Your feelings are hurt? I didn't hurt them. You feel lonely? There are five adults and seven kids in this house. You don't want me sleeping with Eli? Sorry, been there, done that. Got a baby to prove it even. And by the way, if not Eli, then not Foreman and not Chase, and not you. Anything else, or should we divvy up the kids too?" House crossed his arms. Wilson had been acting squirrelly since he got back. Part of it was Eli. Most of it wasn't, and true to Wilson fashion, the idiot wasn't boning up to the thing that was really bothering him.

Wilson looked like a kicked puppy. House rubbed his face. All the women may have died, but there was still one girl in his life. "Wilson. I don't read minds. Even yours."

"I want another baby."

House had not expected that. He stared at the idiot he loved more than anyone. Another baby. All this was about was Wilson wanting to knock him up one more time and get rewarded by another baby with a Pinocchio nose? Not that he didn't want to see another Wilson-type infant. He just didn't want to be the deliverer anymore. It was too much work.

Wilson waited for his answer with his head hanging like he was waiting for his own execution. House frowned at his most annoying mate. Wilson was such a frustrating six feet of idiot. Good thing he was a nice idiot who loved House stupidly. But another baby was out of the question.

"No more babies. I'm retired." House wasn't sure why, exactly, Wilson wanted a second child with him but, knowing Wilson, the reason was all choked up in emotions he wouldn't be able to explain if asked. "We've got David."

Wilson nodded. "I love David. I love him so much. Like I love you but, I just . . .I want another. I just do. Please? One more?"

Yup. Inexplicable, sopping wet emotions. House wished he could say yes just to shut him up for a few weeks. But that would mean he'd eventually have to pony up his

belly and provide Wilson a baby somewhere down the short road.

He was tired of being pregnant. He was tired that his only purpose seemed to be spreading his legs for a herd of rutting penises and popping out child after child for them, while they stood around smoking home-made cigars, patting each other on the back for their virility, and plotting their next seduction of his various and sundry sex organs. "No."

No point in trying to explain or justify his decision. That kind of defining _no _wasn't taken lightly no matter how you buttered it. "I'm sorry."

Wilson looked heart broken. To his frustration, House suddenly felt guilty. Wilson was all sad and forlorn like a lost sheep, and it wasn't even House's fault. There was no _reason_ to feel guilty. Damn, damn damn!

-

-

House vented his frustration out on a keen need for sex and drew Foreman and Eli into his bedroom for an unscheduled night of love-making. He needed to slake his stress in another man's body and Foreman and Eli were the toughest challenges. To get those two horny bulls satisfied meant some heavy duty ass clenching as twice as much for each.

Foreman pumped madly, his teeth clenched, an excited whine escaping between his lips as he felt the deep and urgent ache in his balls nearing the apex of the long climb to glory. Suddenly the world fell away beneath him and he groaned long and low, humping furiously to empty as much of himself as possible. Finally, after he was too flaccid to continue, he withdrew and collapsed on House, soaked in sweat and spent from fucking House like a crazy man. "_God_ that's good." He said and sucked on House's bottom lip. The condom dulled sensation somewhat but at least he could still come while inside House, even though his juice wasn't going to produce anything but a need to flush out the home-made rubber.

House had already taken his pleasure of Eli and sent him on his way. He was angry at Wilson and felt the sharp need to take someone, two someone's, for his own selfish craving - to use them - rather than be taken. A rare reversal of roles.

But the sex, as good as it was, was at an end. House didn't kiss back and Foreman got the hint. Love-fest over. Lights out. Foreman stood and dressed himself while House lay on his side and stared at the wall.

Foreman had sensed the unsettled emotions in House the moment he touched his skin, drawn tight over muscles so tense they may as well have been corded steel. "Not that I think you'll give me a straight answer, but are you okay?"

House wanted to tell him to fuck off, but didn't have the energy. He settled for "Then why ask?"

Foreman sighed too. "Because I'm hoping you'll answer."

House didn't have the heart to explain it all. It was too complex and made his blood pressure spike. It was too stupid to take seriously or worry over. Except he couldn't stop worrying about it. He hated it when Wilson was sad or sulking. Putting back together or comforting an irrationally emotional Wilson was like trying to herd porcupines. They turned their back to you and you always got stuck. "Wilson's being an ass."

Foreman thought he understood. "He's not taking to Eli like we have. And absolutely not like you have."

"He's acting like a child."

"He loves you."

"I know. _And_ he's acting like a child."

"Give him time."

"He's had three months. Eli's not going anywhere. Wilson should stop being such a girl and just accept things the way they are."

"You mean like you accepted Chase?" Foreman laughed ruefully. "Come on. You were an even bigger jerk."

"I was pregnant. Accommodations must be made for preggies."

"Like excuses must be made for the men in love with the preggie. You know Wilson, he wants to be as reasonable as Mister Brady Bunch, but he's more like Elvis on pills. He either gets the girl or wants to shoot the guy who did. And you're his Priscilla, so-"

"-Your metaphors _really_ suck. Shut-up before I hit you with a stiletto."

"I'm just saying Wilson can't help but be jealous when a new man enters your life. And you've got to admit, Eli is a weird sort of choice. He was one of your kidnappers."

"I told you, he didn't know."

"Right. And when he found out, it only took him another eleven months to bring you home." Foreman belted his dusty jeans. "Look, don't get me wrong, I like the guy, but Wilson's got to have more time. And you spending more time with him wouldn't hurt, you know."

"Wilson's problem with jealousy isn't my problem."

Foreman was tired of the circular discussion. "You're completely right. Not your problem. That's why you're not worried or upset or talking about it to me. Because it's _not_ bothering you in the least."

"Your reverse psychology isn't going to work. Not even if you backed up."

Foreman dropped the whole thing. "Look, House, just be you. Act like a jackass. Tell Wilson he's being an idiot, then screw his lights out. Works for me every time."

"You're an easy lay. Wilson I have to romance."

-

-

-

"Hey." House took Wilson's arm and lead him to the yard. It was a sunny September day.

"Where are we going?"

"We need to talk."

Wilson followed his mate obediently. "Look, House-"

"Shut up and listen." House spoke fast, like the words were tumbling out of a ticker tape machine. "I love you, in case you forgot. I like Eli a lot. I was lonely. He helped me. I got pregnant and had his baby. End of fairy tale. _You_ I love, baby or no baby, help or no help, under all circumstances until the day I die." House stopped abruptly in the middle of the yard, half way to the tumble down barn, and caught his breath. Wilson had been keeping his distance since House said no to another bouncing bundle of joy, and it had thoroughly pissed him off. "Now, can you let those facts soak into your jealous, reason resistant mind and appreciate the difference?" His fingers were clamped so tightly on Wilson's arm, his fingers ached. Loving Wilson was a pain in the ass.

Wilson did. "Yes." He still craved to have another child with House. It ate at him. It was a brain-stemmed, retro-evolutionary hunger and he couldn't quell it with reason.

"Then-"

House was about to say he was willing to have one more baby with Wilson, but he felt something - something like a bump or a nudge from inside his body, trying to tell him something - a nudge that stopped the words in his mouth. Stopped them dead. One moment the sensation wasn't there, and the next minute it was. One moment he was feeling perfectly normal, the next altered. Changed. _Added_ to.

A heat, a heaviness at his groin had arisen out of no where, and it wasn't because he had to pee. House did a calculation in his head. Two days since sex with Eli and Foreman. The timing was right, but they'd used condoms. This should not be happening. The warmth settled in like a tiny coal-fired furnace, a pleasant tickle in his loins. He could almost feel the hormones gathering for the migration to his brain to drive him crazy with food cravings, emotional upheavals and the thirst to let anything with an iron-hard cock slide into him and leave behind its hot liquid brand.

"House?" Wilson looked at his friend who went weirdly silent and stood rock still, staring at the ground. Like House was hearing something no one else was hearing. Wilson lay a hand on his mate's sharply tense shoulder. "Hey. Are you okay?"

House swallowed. "Uh, yeah. Just feeling a little under the weather." He turned, gently brushing off Wilson's hand of concern. "Can we take this up later?"

Wilson nodded, his preoccupation with baby-making thrust aside for more urgent worry over House's sudden blanching face and the sweat beading on his forehead. "Sure. Go lie down. You look like you're going to be sick."

"Eventually." House muttered.

-

-

-

Wilson felt nauseous himself. "You're pregnant?? _Again?"_

House was furious with all of them. "Don't you idiots know how to knot a string? What did you do, make little bow ties? This isn't my fault."

A chorus of protests was halted by House's satanic glare. He figured it was Eli's and had announced so at the breakfast table the following morning. "There's a chance it might be Foreman's, but Eli's dick was..." House paused, looked at Wilson with transparent uncertainty, licking his lips, "first in line."

If Wilson had looked broken heart before, now he seemed desecrated, his face shouting _Whore!_ whenever he looked at House.

House tried to ease the tension in the room and the anger in himself by attacking the man he perceived to be most at fault. "I should have known your Goliath worms could push their way through a common knot." Then to them all, "I want double tie-offs on the next batch, or this nursery's closing its doors for good."

Wilson stood, running his hands through his hair in an attempt to calm himself and squelch his outraged feelings. "Was I ever _"in line"_ at all?" He strode quickly from the room lest he make more of a fool of himself than he already had.

"By all means, run off and stroke your depressed dick." House yelled after him.

Foreman held his head in his hands to drown out the hub-bub and ease a mounting headache.

Chase tried to disappear into his morning tea cup. But "I made _my_ knots properly." he said pre-defensively, nodding at Foreman and Eli. "One of you guys must have got sloppy."

"Shut-up Chase." Foreman said.

Eli ignored it all. House, as angry as he was, was pregnant again, and it was probably his. Eli didn't give a damn what the others felt or thought at that moment because he felt like the king of all cocks.

It was a perfect morning. "I'm going to be a daddy."

-

-

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Part XV asap


	15. Chapter 15

REMEMBER ZION

Part XV

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

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_Wilson began to shake as his mind returned and, with it, all reason that had previously abandoned him. All images, all sights and actions done in the space of a few moments to undo everything right in his life. Every goodness trampled underfoot because of something terrible perpetrated to try and bring about something wonderful. It just doesn't get more fucked up._

-

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-

-

House alternately shivered in the late September sun, still hot enough to render a burn. Then, when the northern cold breeze washed over his skin, its chilling hint at winter perfectly clear, he shivered. Trying to ignore Wilson's concern was turning into a dismal failure. It was impossible with the dummy standing three feet from him, with his brown, unblinking, thoughtful orbs staring from that Care Bear face.

"Stop looking at me like you were my mother."

Wilson shook himself from his reverie. "What?"

"Stop fretting like an army wife. I'm fine."

Wilson nodded. "I know." He lied. _I don't think I am. _Wilson took a deep breath and with shaking boldness, "You said you didn't want the baby."

House nodded, frowning at the weird change of subject. "Yeah. So?"

"So,..I know a way...um, you could, well, end it."

House felt a chill go up his spine. Wilson was encouraging him to abort. A thing he would never have suggested if it had been Foreman's baby or Chase's. Certainly not his own. But Eli's..."You think I should terminate? That's interesting."

"I'm only responding to your complaining. You don't want this kid."

"I said I don't want this _pregnancy_. Not wanting the kid's a little different."

Wilson rubbed palms over his face. He felt ill. "Look. Do what you want to do, I'm just trying to find a common ground here. You brought it up. You always have. But if you decide you don't want the baby, I know how it can be done and Eli won't know the difference."

"The guy isn't Einstein but I'm pretty sure he'll notice I'm no longer pregnant with his child when I fail to actually give birth to it."

"I mean it'll pass as a miscarriage. Foreman and Chase won't question it either. You'll be back to non-pregnant and Eli's feelings will be spared."

"And yours."

Wilson looked at the ground. At a row of carrots struggling in the cold late September soil. At the bucket House was sitting on. At the smoke suspended between his fingers, one of Chase's home-made dried leaf cigarettes.

House drew in a long drag of the one cigarette he allowed himself each day. He made sure to not inhale, but he exhaled through his nose to heighten whatever soothing chemical the burning grass might provide for his brain. If he imagined hard enough, tit almost tasted like a Marlborough.

House was careful to smoke away from the sight of his cyclops-sized, overly-protective sire. If Eli caught him sucking on one of the hell-fired sticks, he'd snatch it from his mouth and lecture him for an hour. Eli was in perpetual daddy-mode, and House never got any peace when he was around.

Wilson didn't respond to House's last comment. It was true enough. He didn't know why. He couldn't explain it to House or even himself. He only knew he needed to be the last man House made a baby for. Somehow it was solidly vital without solid reason. It would complete...something - him - them - love - life. He wasn't sure he could forgive House if House didn't give his very last pregnancy to him, and if House asked him to explain - with _reason_ - why, he knew he wouldn't be able to.

Wilson loved this man more than anyone he had ever loved, knowing his love was obsessive, demanding; unhealthy even. He would die for House. Kill for him. Drive the others away if House asked him. Or take him away somewhere. His head filled with the possibilities. Unreasonable things, mad acts.

_What the hell?_

He tried to collect his logical mind into one lump and the anxiety faded somewhat under its command. But the most crucial thing he needed to know had nothing to do with logic or reason. Or even chemistry. Did House loved him that much back? Enough to understand without an explanation why.

Wilson stomped on his surging emotions and said quietly, "Just let me know what you decide."

"What if I decide to keep the baby?" Which was a given really, anyway. He was over two weeks along. It was far closer to viable baby than nameless, faceless fetus. That never used to make a difference. Funny how your body decides things for you when you least expect it.

But House was curious over Wilson.

Wilson knew that of course. He could see it in House's intense blue eyes. Sky-hued eyes. Lake-colored. Air, water. Life. A view of everything. Seeing his soul. Knowing him to his mucky core. Wilson thought he could read House's unspoken question within the spoken one: _What are __**you,**__ Wilson, going to do if I keep the baby? What should I expect? Should I be worried?_

Wilson didn't rightly know what he would do. Or not do. He only knew his heart was, for some reason he could not define, breaking apart. "Then I'll respect your decision, of course."

House hadn't gleaned much; only that Wilson was not himself and had not been for some time. "I'm keeping the baby."

-

-

-

House's cries of labor came, as they often did, in the middle of the night. Chase scrambled to get water ready. The cleaned strips of cotton sheets (re-washed after each birth in soap and lime), were ready and stacked in a small cardboard box on the side table.

Eli and Foreman helped House struggle to his feet, so Wilson could spread a thick blanket beneath him to absorb fluid and save the mattress from permanent soiling. Wilson felt like the house-hold laundress. The hired help. Only he did it for free.

This labor did not go on as long as his previous one, and House was relieved by the small favor. He wasn't sure how much more of this his back could take.

But Eli's baby was soft brown all over, like cinnamon, with black eyes the size of saucers. House was glad the baby was healthy but was yet again disappointed that so far, none of the children looked much like him. Not that he cared, not really. It's just that going through all the weeks of discomfort followed by hours of barbaric pain, he ought to have more of a personal reward; like a kid with his eyes and nose, his hair color and height potential. He was tired of all the little sire-clones crawling around. If his next baby came out limping, that would be close enough.

Not that there was going to be a next one. "Tuck your cocks away for a few months, gentlemen. I'm taking a sex sabbatical."

House thought of a name that felt appropriate to his state of mind. Eli looked like a warrior. He himself felt like he had already birthed an army. "Duncan." He said listlessly to no one in particular. "His name's Duncan." _He's got battles coming, I'm betting._

-

-

-

House devoured Chase's mouth. They moved to the bed and fumbled with clothing.

Twenty minutes ago, his sabbatical was interrupted by Chase walking through the living room door looking just too damn good in his sweaty shirt and mussed up hair from the animal barn. He and Foreman had rounded up a few stray cows that had gone wild and herded them home with soothing cuss-cuss's, shaking wild grain heads in a bucket. Sweet promises of oats and easy living.

Eventually, the new stock would be working for their keep by giving milk and the occasional beef cow, if they ever got them breeding.

Chase entered the house looking like the centerfold from Sexy Farmer's Virgin Sons (if there had ever been such a magazine), and House pulled him without explanation up the stairs, kicking the bedroom door shut. Which was a neat trick, since he only had one fully functioning leg.

With shaking hands, Chase hurriedly slipped on the home-made condom over his erect, pulsing penis. He wanted it so bad. House had kept himself celibate for nearly six weeks. Probably a record. Chase didn't care why House had ended his self determined period of sexlessness, he just cared that it was ended.

Chase pumped and groaned in House's ear until House clamped Chase's hand around his own stiff cock and sank into the unique privilege of a BM; being fucked from two sides and being able to enjoy each as much as the other. Each was the perfect high. A ride to Saturn on sheets of fire and feathers.

Chase shuddered, emptying into House, then collapsed on him bonelessly. "Wow." He raised himself up on hands weak with the strain of suspending himself above him delicious mate's chest. "I so missed that."

Chase rolled off and wrapped his arms around House's shoulders. "Mmmm. Fantastic."

House rolled his eyes, enduring his mate's habitual snuggling. Fifteen minutes. That was Chase's required hug-time. Foreman he could shoo off within a minute. Eli just went whenever he snarked at him to take his time and get the hell gone already and not to let the door hit him on the ass on the way out. And Wilson. Wilson was an all-nighter. He liked to wrap himself around you and swallow you whole, like the world's boniest, sugar-lipped Boa-Constrictor or a gross tonne of liquid cement.

House had to admit it though, on those extra cold nights, it wasn't so bad.

Finally Chase sat up and carefully removed the condom. He paused, then, seeing a sight that sunk his heart and made it hammer all at once, as it would have any boy or man who had decided to be responsible and do the right thing with any new girlfriend. Or a blue-eyed hotty of a breeding BM, as the case now was. "Oh no. This condom's got a _cut_ in it."

House lay as still as a sidewalk. "You're fucking kidding me?" He sat up. "Let me see it." House fingered the dried section of tied-off intestine and, sure enough, on the knotted end, where no sperms were allowed to pass, the small cut was impossible to miss.

_"Shit!"_ There was nothing to be done for it. If any of Chase's little men had got through, it was probably too late to do anything about it now. Damn Chase and his post-coitus cuddling. "They do eventually wear out. Especially with you guys and your ever-saluting dicks. But cut?" _Son-of-a-bitch! How? _House didn't want any more pregnancies. _Enough already with the baby making._ "God's still screwing with me. I thought that humorless Tease had left town."

Chase frowned. "House. It's not worn through or torn. It's _cut. _Don't you know what this means?"

House sat up, the satisfied tickle in his loins of having been well and truly banged put aside for the moment. "Like, deliberately cut with a knife you're thinking. Not cut as in it got snagged somehow on my bread knife?"

Chase nodded, showing it to him again. House took it, fingering its still sticky insides and outsides like a surgeon would a piece of sliced bowel. Which, in fact, it exactly was. House had a terrible thought. "Check all the condoms."

Puzzled, "What? Why?"

"Just do it. I have a feeling they're lodge-mates."

They had all been cut and House knew who had done the dirty deed.

A lightening-fast, private meeting - sans Wilson - was held while Wilson tucked the boys in bed. Excuses were made and each unoccupied mate, having supplied plausible excuses, had met up in the barn. Straw dust filled the air whenever someone fidgeted a foot. "Wilson's obsessed with getting another baby out of me." He finally confessed to his mates. "He's been privately asking me for one. Pestering me, actually." House rubbed his ruined thigh. "He's driving me nuts." He was the only one seated. The others stood in a circle around him.

Foreman wasn't all that surprised. "Well, the rest of us do have two kids each now. Even Eli." Eli nodded, as delighted with his offspring as he was with their birth-daddy's tidy backside. "Yeah." Was all he said.

"Stands to reason Wilson'd want another, too." Foreman added.

House knew that to be true of course, but, "This is not whining Wilson complaining because I ate the last of the cookies, this is a lust-crazed I-must-have-a-baby-or-die -groaning-like-a-sperm-whale" Wilson. Wilson of the mind gone wacko for a kid Wilson." House picked at the straw bale he sat upon. "It's not normal, even for him."

"Well, I sure didn't sabotage our condom stash. Any confessions we need to hear from anyone else?" Foreman looked around.

Chase shook his head in a "No chance in hell" fashion. "I _love_ a pregnant House, but I love the safety of my balls more."

"Who wants to have the talk with Wilson?" Foreman asked. He sounded, again, like a father driven to distraction. There were no takers.

House rolled his eyes at his feeble sires. "I'll do it, you wusses." And marched to the house on hobbled steps.

By the time House's shouting and Wilson's sorrowful apologizing had died down, House knew he was pregnant.

-

-

-

"Hey." Wilson sat down a few feet away on the rough couch, the fabric of which always left tiny golf-ball like marks on whatever part of his exposed flesh came into contact with it for any length of time.

After his poorly fought battle of denial over the cut condoms, he had fessed up, earning him House's unique mixture of flabbergasted shouting at his stupidity followed by rarely seen blue eyes filled with House-brand sympathy. Wilson loved that House loved him enough to threaten murder if he ever did it again. Of course House would never murder him, it just meant so much that he might. But House had already forgiven him. House loved him that much.

But still Wilson had spent considerable time away from House, and avoiding the others as much as possible without looking like he was trying to avoid them. A difficult balance. But shame was a hard thing to measure out. He was sorry. Boy, was he sorry. He was still down one kid next to them all. And down _two_ next to Chase.

House looked up from his task. Wilson had watched House work on the wooden thing for weeks, and he was busy gouging out another small hole in the thick, hollow reed. A small flute-like instrument was slowly taking shape under his deft fingers.

"Hey." House eased himself to his feet, muttering something about needing a sharper point.

Wilson had not spoken to him about the forbidden baby subject but could not help but steal a lustful look at House's exposed little bump just above his crotch. As he had moved along in his Chase-sired pregnancy, he could no longer do up his jeans and had forgone underwear altogether, the elastic band cutting into the more tender flesh of his lower abdomen.

House's most recent bump was his fault, Wilson knew, and accepted the blame. House was pregnant and not with his child, but Chase's. His plan to prevent any protected sex for any of them, including most especially himself, had back-fired in his crotch. All he'd wanted was one more child.

Now Chase was getting son number three and he was getting dirty looks from everyone. Great plan.

Dirty looks from everyone but House and for that Wilson purred with gratitude. House paused in the doorway of the kitchen to stretch his aching arms over his head. In doing so, his swollen stomach became even more pronounced.

Wilson felt himself harden at the sight. The pink flush, the tightened skin, the soft sprinkle of light brown hair running a temping trail down below the open fly of his jeans. Wilson swallowed convulsively, light headed with the dreamy sight of it. His hormones were raging out of control like a seventeen-year-old, and he bit his lip over the moan that almost escaped his lips as he watched House hobble back to the living room, his right arm heavily leaning on his cane, his body arching forward protectively over his swollen lower torso.

The sight made Wilson want to tear the BM's clothes off and give it to him right there on the dusty floor.

"Need anything?" Wilson had to force normalness into his voice, but the desire for sex with House lingered in his mind and in his cock, his mounting lust escaping in

a slight breathless quality to his words.

House looked at him. He was tired. The kids had been acting up all day, the weather, though warm, was too wet to let them out for longer than a few minutes, not to mention the work involved in diapering and feeding. Wilson had done his share as always, but his own back was still sore by nightfall. The baby's growing weight, he supposed, accounted for some of it. At least this kid wouldn't be another football player. A violinist perhaps. Maybe he could make a violin? Music lessons would be good for the kids. They'd hate him and love him for it. House was horrified at himself. He had become his mom.

His leg was burning. True, it often did, but today was especially bad, as he had been on his feet more than usual.

"No. Legs hurts, though."

Wilson almost jumped out of his skin. "Need a massage?" He wanted to do something. Help. Be near him. Be his good, caring mate again.

House looked at him a little suspiciously, but he appeared to be satisfied that Wilson would keep it respectable. Lesson learned in cold shoulders from Eli and Foreman, daily snarls from himself, and some weirdly endearing shy smiles from Chase. Gotten in ignorance aside, House knew Chase was thrilled with the pregnancy and Wilson knew it too. Chase could hardly stay angry at Wilson and remain an honest man.

House relented. He really did need some help with the pain. "Yeah."

Wilson gestured for House to lay down. "Uh, can't really do much through the fabric."

House shook his head. "No way. I don't have any boxers on. You're liable to get ideas."

Wilson tried to look thoroughly annoyed and a trifle insulted. "House, I'm not seventeen." He grabbed an afghan from days gone by from off the back of their single easy chair. "Here, you can even cover up."

House accepted the blanket, draped it over his lower half and, with some difficulty, wiggled out of his jeans.

Wilson watched, trying not to imagine the lovely shapes beneath the soft wool. He could almost feel the heat of House's cock in his hand, the tight squeeze of his ass on his own. Hand trembling, he nodded for House to lay down. House complied and Wilson touched the wasted muscle with tender fingers. "Does that hurt? I'm not pressing too hard?"

"It's fine." House was tense. He was nervous. Wilson kept up the gentle massage, though, actually beginning to enjoy himself, and he felt the flesh of his lover slowly relax. Finally, sighing with pain relief, House closed his eyes and lay back.

Wilson missed the daily things between himself and House, like just touching him. Or kissing him. "So," He ventured. "We can't have a baby. I guess I can live with that. Don't really have a choice. But does that also mean you'll never sleep with me again? Or even kiss me? Does it mean I can't ever kiss you?"

House opened his eyes, though he remained supple beneath Wilson's kneading fingers. "The sex? After the baby comes, yeah. The kissing can go on as usual. Except you haven't been much interested in that." He nodded to Wilson's crotch area. "Not without little Willie getting in the way."

Wilson smiled. He felt light, like he was walking on air, like he could fly if he choose to. Because things were going to be fine. Kissing for now and eventually . . .

Wilson leaned over and tenderly touched House's lips with his own. It was a gentle, almost tentative kiss but it fired electric jolts to his cock which hardened immediately. It had a head and mind of its own and it was shrilly commanding a hell of a lot more than a kiss.

Wilson ignored it for the moment, murmuring. "I missed this."

House kissed back. "Me too. Now shut up."

Wilson chuckled, getting into the moment. He got into a crouching position and, placing each knee on either side of House's hips, timbered his whole upper body in a leaning arch over House, shadowing him like a mountain blocks the sun from the fertile valley, drawing in closer for more intimate contact, the soft flesh of his stomach very gently laying on House's rounder one. Exceptionally gently, so as not to put any pressure on his abdomen. "Have I ever told you how unbelievably sexy you look when you're pregnant?"

"Only about a hundred times. And didn't I just say shut up?"

Wilson's heart was already racing and his cock was a tree trunk in his pants. His mind warned him what a bad idea this was. His cock jeered, mocking his interfering mind, and instead praised its human commander for his sexual prowess and ingenuity. Wilson's penis ferried secret things to its owner's desire while Wilson himself went on kissing House. All the while, _it_ went on growing harder and harder. _Put him off __guard._It whispered in his accommodating ear._ Kiss him and make love to his leg, body and lips, then take him holy hard before he knows what's happening. Fuck him so fast he has no time to think anything but enjoyment. _Wilson approved of all those ideas.

As he deepened the kiss, common sense and promise were nudged aside like old women in a line up at the welfare office. His cock demanded its indulgences, for which it had patiently waited far too long. _Grind his ass into pulp. Pump him until the only thing he feels is your cock emptying inside him; and then make him beg for more. Make him love me. Make him writhe under us like a slut. Get him pregnant. Knock him up - Fuck him a hundred times! Supplant the other bastard fetus with one properly and righteously yours._

Zombified with desire, Wilson listened to his ranting and raging penis and slowly worked a hand beneath the wool covering hiding those delicious parts of House for which his cock chanted its song. Keeping House's mouth occupied, with one hand Wilson fumbled at the front of his own pants, quickly snapping open the metal clasp and unzipping the fly. Pushing down his boxers, his hard cock popped out like a cannon ready to fire.

With the same hand he slowly worked an arm beneath House's left thigh. That was enough to give House pause. "Hey-"

Wilson was no longer listening to anything House wanted. Because he only wanted House and House only wanted Wilson. Everything said so, and it wasn't lying.

Therefor what Wilson needed was suddenly the most important need on the one and only Earth. Everyone should understand it and none should interfere. They ought to support him. He was House's lover - this was Right. Fucking House and making another baby was the Greatest Undertaking in History. Surely they all recognized that? Surely House did, too?

"Hey. Stop that."

But Wilson, blind in the spot-light colors of sex and fucking his BM, was stupid to all other pursuits; those monochrome and lifeless things. He ignored House's protests and slipped his left arm beneath House's right thigh, pushing his long developed legs up, spreading them in one lightening fast, astonishingly powerful move.

One second House was enjoying some delightful afternoon necking, the next, Wilson had him hog-tied with his long arms, locking his hands behind House's back and making it impossible for him to break free. Next thing after that, Wilson was trying to blindly shove his cock into his depths like House was a ten dollar hooker.

"Hey!" House went from surprised to angry when he realized Wilson had reverted to his recently untrustworthy, cock-fired idiot persona. "I _knew_ I shouldn't have trusted you. Get off me!" House stared up at Wilson's blank eyes which were looking off to somewhere, staring at something not even in the room. What, he didn't know.

Wilson was not seeing House, not sensing or feeling him as one human of love to another. Maybe not even caring that he was there, or that House was still an autonomous man with the right to say no, baby-making parts inclusive or no.

"Wilson! Get the fuck off me."

Wilson finally found his voice. Low, hoarse, drenched with need and gravely with lust. "This is right, baby. It should be me in there. My body, my cum, _my_ baby. You should be pregnant with me, not him." His mind forgot whose baby was inside House's growing underbelly. But all things came around to the Correctness of this. This was Destiny all exploding like a red giant and then falling back on itself like a pulsing hot white-dwarf, burning away all the flotsam of the universe. This wasn't just sex, it was the definition of it, the personification of sexual meaning and strivation.

This - making love to House, planting his life in him, watching his belly grow only for him - this was pure and complete sexual purpose. Sex itself existed for him to do just this. To fuck House until he swelled like a sweet abiding BM, all warmth and legs and hot, tight place.

Wilson babbled words only House would hear and only for House - their meaning for his sweet House alone. "You should want to be tight for Wilson, baby. You should want to. You should want to be pregnant for me. Oh - fuck - I _need_ you to be. So badly, so _badly_..."

Wilson was immensely strong when he wished it and House could not shift him an inch. Plus he couldn't afford to thrash around too much when he was already over two weeks along. Plus his long dormant chemistry where Wilson was concerned was stirring to life and starting to hum along with Wilson's sudden insanity.

"What are you going to do - rape me??" House could not believe what was happening. Wilson was actually going to go through with it. He was going to force himself on him. _Rape_ him. "You're fucking obsessed, Wilson. You're nuts!"

"Only for you." Wilson answered, so cornball it scared House more than angered him.

Wilson actually managed to still House's struggles enough to press the sensitive and impatient head of his cock against House's hole hard enough that he broke through the tight ring of muscle with a sickening groan of satisfaction, then shoved himself all the way in. "Oh, fuck, House, oh baby, so good, so good. Just relax and enjoy it. Just relax. Jus..._please_ just let me fuck you."

At the unprepared penetration without any preparation, Wilson's penis pinched his entrance and scraped him raw on its way in.

House's yell of pain was ignored and Wilson began to move inside him, slowly at first, then faster, his movements becoming frenzied - erratic. All the while he moaned and repeatedly whispered to House sexual songs, chants that were nigh-on religious; mantras of sex, cocks and fucking, pregnancy, hot swells of flesh and babies. More babies.

Then, while he groaned and pumped madly, his own mantra - "I'm going to fuck you like this every night for the rest of your life. I'm going to make so many babies inside you, House. So many babies. You're going to give me dozens. _Dozens."_

"Fuck you I will. Get off me, goddamn you son-of-a-"

Foreman came banging through the front door, House's cry of pain evidently enlightening him to a situation he could not have in a million crappy generations guessed at.

Foreman stopped, staring in shock at Wilson on top of House, actually holding him down, and forcing himself on him. Foreman was so immobilized with the surreality of it, he didn't at first even react. Labor pains, he had thought. Premature baby. House's cry had meant bad mo-jo.

Not Wilson in the process of raping the man he loved. Raping the _pregnant_ man he loved. Worse mo-jo. Way, way worse.

"Jesus Christ - Wilson??" Foreman didn't hesitate anymore when he heard another yelp of pain from House, who was doing everything he could to throw Wilson off himself, and failing miserably. It had sounded like pain. Sort of.

Whatever. Foreman clamped large, meat-hook hands around Wilson's slim shoulders and hauled him off the BM, dumping him on the floor. "Jesus, Wilson, what the fuck are you doing?"

He stared down at this unfailingly kind, born-gentle man turned rapist. The sight of him with jeans bunched around his knees, his cock still hard and glistening, his balls blue with unfulfilled need, was a pathetically ridiculous sight. Foreman felt the rage come up into his face in a rush of heat. "Pull your pants up." It was an order.

As Wilson fumbled to cover himself up again, Foreman helped House sit up. House was shaking. Foreman didn't know if from fear, pain or shock. "Are you all right?"

House caught his breath, swallowed and nodded. "Yeah." He managed, staring at Wilson like a swamp creature had burst through the door, clobbered him with its mating club, and was now sitting on the floor, tugging clumsily at its stuck zipper.

Chase entered next. "What the-?" He had no idea what was going on. But a half dressed Wilson, a half naked House and a burning angry Foreman gave him a few clues. "I heard a yell, what-?"

"I'll explain later." Foreman said.

Wilson was still sitting on the floor, his legs splayed out, his pants finally zipped, staring at House with a perspiring face drained of blood. He looked like he was going to throw up. "I-I don't, I'm n-not,...what?? I don't know-" He looked at House.

House was staring at the floor, carefully not moving, not reacting save for ragged breaths being forced in and out of his lungs, the outraged heart behind them hammering out of control. He was even paler than Wilson. He looked shell-shocked. A victim of a terrorist bombing. Or a rape.

"Wait a sec-!" Wilson began to shake as his mind returned and with it, all reason that had previously galloped away with glee. All images, all sights and actions done in the space of a few moments to undo everything right in his life. Every goodness trampled underfoot because of something terrible perpetrated to try and bring about something wonderful. It just doesn't get more fucked up.

Commit a crime in the space of a few breaths because of a mind gone mad for sex. Not a long few breaths. But just enough.

_Oh fuck. Oh god. _

_Oh Jesus, no! _"House??" He whispered, not daring to raise his voice. Not wishing to add extra noise to the terrible tumult in the silent storm behind House's ransacked eyes. Wilson's own feelings were mirrored in their blue depths. Frozen fear. Betrayal. Disbelief. A rock slide of grief tumbled from House to Wilson, not even raising the dust off the floor.

Wilson blubbered when it hit home the awful whole way. Nearby, six children cried at the unfamiliar sound of adult weeping.

Foreman interrupted Wilson's post-assault tears and stutters. "Go sit in the bedroom while we decide what to do." Foreman realized he sounded like a scolding father who'd just caught his son playing doctor with the neighbor's daughter.

Without another word, Wilson stood and nodded, walking away with guilt piled ceiling-high on sagging shoulders. He longed to reach out and touch House, lift his chin from the floor with a hand. But he dared not even try. He might lose an arm. Each of his foot-falls on the stairs sounded to himself like a clock marking out the last minutes of his time on the planet as a proper and welcomed man.

Peeved at the lack of forthcoming information, Chase asked "What the fuck just happened?"

Foreman stared sadly down at House, aware that saying it aloud might not be the best course of treatment at that particular moment. "I said I'll explain later." Foreman wordlessly gathered up House's jeans and helped him step into them again. House obeyed silently, every nerve in his body coming down from full charge to weak sparks, like someone had just yanked his cord from the wall socket. He trembled head to foot, moving methodically; robot-like, as though he'd been toggled over to auto-pilot.

Foreman said to Chase. "Get Eli. Tell him we need to have a family meeting."

Chase asked. "Sure, but will you please tell me what just happened here?" He had moved over to stand protectively beside House and his baby contained in House's shaking torso. Chase turned eyes of black fury on everyone and anyone. "What did he do? What the _fuck_ did he just do!?"

Wilson heard from the second floor the cursing of his name and just covered his face with shameful fingers and shook his head, not really believing it himself. Nothing was real anymore. He was a stranger to himself. House would hate him forever. _Every right to. Every right._

Exasperated, "Some seriously heavy-duty shit, Chase." Foreman answered. "Some goddamn fucking stink happened here." He was furious for House and enraged at Wilson. Lately it seemed their home was a haven more of strangers than lovers. "Now would you please just go get Eli?"

XXXXXXX

Part XVI asap


	16. Chapter 16

REMEMBER ZION

Part XVIf

By GeeLadyf

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

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_But the most shocking memory, the worst one associated with the rape, was how right it had felt, even so, to have done it. Naturally, not the force had been right; not the struggle, but the act itself. Perfectly right. Rightly perfect. Sex with House had seemed to him a cog in the works, long missing, finally sliding into place as easily as you please. A fullness of purpose __realized.__ The hand of creation through him bestowed at last, so the wonderful mystery machinery in his lover could then spring to life and work its marvel. The contact of skin on skin and taut organ in dark paradise had seemed the crowning touch on a life-long work of art._

-

-

Around the kitchen table, Foreman spoke quietly to his mates. Loud words seemed ill-suited to something as reprehensible and violent as rape. Even if it appeared as though the perp' had temporarily gone insane.

Wilson had not left the bedroom since the "incident" (as Foreman had so clinically put it), and was currently curled up on the mattress in a self-appalled fetal ball of mute shame. He had refused the food and water Eli had brought him earlier.

"Self-imposed penance or something. I've never seen him like this." Foreman said. "One minute he's attacking you," He looked at House, "the next he's blubbering and throwing himself on our mercy."

"It's weird." Eli remarked, leaving his opinion at that. He really didn't know Wilson too well. The others invited Eli's company, talked to him about themselves, and he to them. Wilson had kept all conversations between them, if not formal, then stiff and neutral. Nothing intimate passed between. Nothing learned. Nothing gained. He didn't know what the hell to think about Wilson now, beyond wanting to frighten the man into never laying a finger on House again for any reason.

"You're actually feeling sorry for him?" Chase asked. He reminded them - "What he did to House was despicable. It was unforgivable."

House, up until this point quiet, threw Chase a muse of impatience. "Stop referring to me like I'm not here. And stop talking about Wilson like he's Jack the Ripper. He was out of his mind."

Foreman gave House his own muse. "And you don't think that's a little weird? You think that's anything like the Wilson we know?"

For a moment, House thought buckets-full with narrowed eyes, playing with the faded table cloth Wilson insisted on keeping clean and presentable. Wilson did like his home-maker touches. House-wife Wilson; great cook, great with kids, great in bed (if a tad mushy) - a good man. He was imperfect in small ways, too: self-conscious about his appearance and lousy at marriage, but not everyone was cut out for everything, nor ought they to be.

House himself was a prime example. He didn't care much about his appearance and never had, loathed house keeping, burned oatmeal - but considered himself a pretty good lay.

In the ways that mattered to House, Wilson was the best of most things. Refined. Now he had suddenly turned abuser and rapist? No way. Besides, House didn't feel any worse-for-wear from the attack. At the time, it had reduced him to a quivering Jello of bad memories all tied up in images of Josh and his uninvited re-re-visiting dick that never took no for an answer. A rifle shot to the gut echoed in his mind. That hadn't been neighborly of Josh either.

Josh was, very notable, not Wilson. For starters, you had to be a human. "No, it wasn't like him. It wasn't like _Wilson_ at all."

Foreman saw that look. It was the House look. He could practically see the light-bulb _boink!_ into view above House's noggin.

"House..?" He said, half question, half warning to the others that House was about to embark on a Theory. They all dreaded House's theories. It meant days of trying to control his bizarre antics and sleepless nights while he sorted through the pros and cons of whichever theory had lured him with its siren song. And once a theory had its sharp hooks in him, it didn't let go until House either was proved wrong or collapsed from exhaustion. When inevitably thereafter he gloated that he wasn't just tired, he was right.

"He has no fever." House muttered aloud to no one special. "Nothing's changed environmentally. We have no drugs for him to be high on, yet Wilson isn't _himself_."

Chase and Foreman exchanged defeated eye-rolls. Too late. Theory has left the launch pad.f

"Which means Wilson's sick, just in a way we can't see."

"You're just making excuses for him." Foreman insisted. "He's jealous as hell over Eli."

"Then why be so upset when I'm pregnant with _Chase's_ kid?" House replied. "When Eli knocked me up, Wilson moped like a champion, but he didn't _touch_ me."

"Maybe he doesn't care anymore? Wilson has always been jealous for you. And now he has three rivals instead of two."

"As much as I'd like to bask on the pedestal you've put me on sexual-attraction-wise, you're reaching. And don't forget you're talking to the man who knows about the man who cheated on two out of three wives, and who never cared a lick about how many hookers I rented monthly. Wilson was never jealous _for_ me. He was a bit of a closet-case, and nuts about me in a weirdly endearing way, but never jealous. This has got to be something in his brain - infection, tumor . . ."

Foreman pinched the fleshly bridge of his doubting brows together. "You can't be serious."

"I'm making a diagnosis. I know Wilson - _this_ isn't him."

"You're making a hope. A wild hope. That's easier than admitting he hurt you."

"He didn't hurt me."

"He held you down. He put his penis in you without permission." Foreman lowered his voice which had begun to rise. "He forced you to have sex. That's assault. It's rape."

House tuned him out, his mind going to the, to him, obvious alternative. "He didn't mean it." He answered blandly.

Trying to get House's attention back onto Wilson and off House's next wild ride - "You mean he accidentally lost his penis and, while trying to find it, tripped over your anus?"

House stared at him, annoyed now at the argument. "No, he didn't mean it because he's _sick_, and because he _didn't mean it_."

Chase wanted to hit something. "You're going to just excuse him, aren't you? I saw you, House, you were falling apart."

"I was in shock." House insisted, his own voice getting louder, higher. "That's not the same thing, so stop mooning."

"Right. Falling apart and traumatic shock are completely different." Foreman's sarcasm was unmistakable. "Blaming a rape on a virus. I was wrong - you're perfectly okay."

"Stop psycho-analyzing me. I'm _fine_." House turned to Chase, dismissing all contrary arguments for his own. "You've lived with the man for years, and in the old days, you worked with Wilson on and off on a few of his cases. Tell me, honestly, does Wilson's actions yesterday seem normal for him? Even reasonable? _Ever_?"

Chase hated to admit it. Wilson had put his unborn child in danger. Not to mention he had perpetrated a rape of his unborn child's birth-dad. But other than yesterday, he couldn't recall Wilson ever being physically violent to anyone. "No, it didn't seem like him. Never. In fact, I'm pretty sure he'd go away somewhere and mope whenever one of his extra-special baldies bought the farm."

"You were shaking head to foot, House." Foreman said again. "You were scared shitless." It had been a worrisome and heart-rending event to witness. House _vulnerable_. Probably the one time he would ever see that side of House. A part of him that so rarely saw the sun.

Foreman had held back his own fists at the time. Where before, in some other life the urge to pummel over House wouldn't have come up, the why was now simple - House had carried Foreman's seed first. Before Wilson. Before any of them even knew what it felt like to know they could sire children by a BM. Before any of them could wildly guess at how planet-sized the power of BM sexual chemistry was. Before they had any clue how fastened together, how osmotic their minds and bodies would become to these new creatures called Blue-Eyed Mutants or BM's for short.

For millions of years prior, sex had been an infant. Post-Outbreak, it had grown up overnight, embedded its phormones in the hidden flesh of Blue-Eyes. Among those still left human in their desires, fucking your very own BM, or fantasizing fucking your very own BM, was the new 24-7 occupation, past-time, vocation and dedication. It was culture beneath the sheets.

BM's made babies. They were the thoroughbreds of humanity now. Everyone wanted a ride. A half dozen creative monikers had already been coined: "Birth-males", "Womb-men", "Sac's", "Ball-babies", "Cock-a-Mommies", or simply "Blue's". A BM could draw a sire to himself without visible effort. Even with scowls, moods and tantrums, once sex-bitten a sire was a slave-bee to a BM's honey.

No sire minded the duty. Nor did they mind a little turbulence in their loving. Foreman extra-appreciated House's response in bed when the BM was all fired red with temper or huffy with impatience. It made slaking his lust in House's body, and bringing him to gooey sexual compliance, all the more satisfying. He felt as virile as a prize bull whenever he bedded House.

"Shut-up Foreman." House protested. Uncomfortable with his mate's misinterpretation of his own reaction. "And _not_ shitless. If you don't believe me, check your shoe."

Foreman ignored House's deflecting by years of practice. House was huffy. He was irritated. Tonight's time between the sheets was setting up to be extra fun.

For House, the insult worked. Disturbed feelings smoothed and straightened, House stood and began pacing. "Right now it doesn't matter. I'm not the one you should be thinking about."

_Impossible._ Foreman sighed. He knew that it was too late to discourage House now anyway. They all knew it. House had his nose to the ground, sniffing circles around Wilson.

"Hilarious." Foreman said to House's check-for-poo advice. He followed House around as he paced, House stopping occasionally to scribble words on a large pad of a child's blank coloring book which he kept handy on the kitchen counter.

Foreman told himself he was _not_ going to read the pad. This was _not_ a case.

Chase sat on his chair playing with a spoon and scowled. The way Cuddy used to scowl whenever she joined in on one of House's kooky diagnostic theories.

Eli watched their odd parade around the room.

It was a differential. In House's office. At Plainsboro. Like the old days, without the old days.

"What illness do you think Wilson has?" Foreman asked, not really expecting a concrete answer. House was evading, projecting, ignoring, dismissing. He was trying to excuse Wilson's unacceptable behavior as not at fault. House was looking for a puzzle in order to solve a puzzle.

It's not that Foreman believed Wilson's behavior was normal, exactly, he just didn't believe it was disease-caused. Wilson might just be going bonkers. Or stressed, or not sleeping. It could be lots of things not strictly medical. And House had been rejecting Wilson's advances for weeks and weeks. That would drive any sire to distraction. Foreman couldn't imagine going longer than a month without a taste of hot BM ass. His dick was hard just thinking about it.

House stopped and Foreman nearly ran into him. He mentally leaped from his inner monologue back into the solid kitchen where less satisfying, non-sexual problems still lurked. "What?"

House turned to stare at them. Now he looked worried and scared. He swallowed and said. "Wilson has cancer."

-

-

Wilson sat on the edge of the forty-year-old mattress, hands clasped together like in the temple of his father's times. Like when he sat beside him and pretended to pray just like him. Only now Wilson wasn't praying or pretending. Now he was sick to his stomach over what he had done. He was trying to find his soul again and having no success. By rights, he ought to be banished from his home and driven from his family.

"What are we to do, Wilson?" Foreman, Eli and Chase (who was standing in the farthest corner with his arms intertwined to keep them from wrapping around Wilson's throat, seething with fury over what had been done to his mate. His mate who was pregnant with his child), were discussing with Wilson what to do with him; their gone-insane rapist roomie. Wilson was personally glad that Foreman had insisted that, though Chase have every right to be there during this meeting, he had no right to bash Wilson's brains in, however he might deserve it.

Foreman always tried to think ahead, bless the man.

No one had yet mentioned House's theory of cancer. More thinking ahead. Perhaps it was best leave that to a better-suited time. All in agreement there. A time like, when they knew anything beyond House's mid-afternoon differential "diagnosis" based on virtually nothing. They had one symptom: Wilson was not acting like himself because he had raped House. Or, Foreman thought, spun another way - because Wilson had raped House, he was not acting like himself. Or Wilson raped House because he was horny and insanely jealous.

Foreman recalled the year spent in Doctor Laurent's government sponsored Baby-Farm where they used to stay in a clean white apartment, were fed three meals a day - and sometimes got real coffee, too - and made sacs of tiny embryos for someone else to raise. A smooth run factory for making the new human race. All they really had to think about was who got to fuck House which night, and then crow like peacocks whenever House got pregnant.

Things used to be so simple.

However, Laurent had bit off more than he could ever chew when he'd introduced House into his well-oiled house of baby making. House had moved Laurent's heaven closer to earth and made the impossible - possible. Real babies. Genuine family groups. And then House had made the possible impossibly complicated, and they'd found it necessary to escape to freedom as the walls fell.

It had all started with a theory.

"I,...I don't know what to say. I don't know what happened." Wilson had to force every word from his mouth. No lying. This was too important. This was the most important thing, and far and away the worst thing, he had ever been involved with. "I mean, I don't know what happened with me. I...lost control."

_Lost control_. A sad euphemism for assault and rape. More like no control. Control absent. Missing. Like it had never been anywhere in the vicinity to start with. "I saw myself doing it. I didn't feel it was wrong. I don't know why. I can't explain it." He swallowed choking grief and tried to think of House who would never speak to him again. If his furious mates decided to drive him away, he'd go without a fight. He'd raped his best friend, first-love, lover-mate and the birth-father of his beloved son.

Banishment would be the least he ought to expect.

He'd raped House. Like the kidnappers before him. Like the leader of the kidnappers who'd raped him over and over. Who'd sired a baby via those rapes. Which baby died. Which baby House felt he had to kill to save him from suffering; himself slated to in some way suffer for the rest of his life because of that apocalyptic mercy. How could any of that be forgiven?

Wilson had become just another rapist kidnapper. He wondered what precious, irreplaceable part of House he had stolen.

Foreman said again. "What do you think we should do with you?"

Wilson wiped at the tears that refused to stop. "I don't k-know. I could leave,...g-go away somewhere. I will if that's what House wants," He swallowed the unthinkable: never seeing House again. A fitting penance. And he wasn't even Catholic. "If that's what you all want."

Foreman sighed, crossing his arms. He had protested but the decision had been made for them. "House doesn't want that. House wants you to stay." Foreman looked at Chase with marked sternness. It was a warning to keep vengeful fists deep in pockets. "So you're staying."

Wilson still looked like a man on the gallows. Foreman softened his tone. "Of course you're staying." No one, not even Chase, as angry as he was, really wanted Wilson to leave. One of their house-hold was troubled. He needed help, not ostracism.

Wilson waited. There had to be a catch. There should be.

Chase spoke. They had decided he would be the one. "But there are some rules. First, you're not to be alone with House at any time until we say otherwise. Not until House says otherwise, because he has a soft spot for you and always will. Until _we_ say otherwise."

Foreman added "Until we're satisfied you're no longer a danger to him or anyone else."

Wilson nodded. So far, so good. But bad. Inside rolled distant thunder. A beast gnawed at his urges, and spoke - _Bad. Don't want to wait. _I can't be alone with House! I can't touch him! _Not right now maybe . . ._

Chase piped in. "And you have to agree to undergo whatever tests we can some up with to figure out what's wrong with you. House thinks you may have a brain tumor. In my opinion, you're just obsessed with being the family's number one cock; that all this is some weird post-Outbreak, sire-dink related chemical depression." Chase glanced around at his other mates, the non-rapist ones, "but I've been told I'm not being fair."

Wilson nodded again, to all of it, singling out no one item. It was all correct so far - no one else was affected -not a virus. No one else had raped House - not environmental; unless it was some allergy manifesting as a bizarre mental and emotional state of extreme heightened sex-drive. Pretty far-fetched, even for an post-Armageddon world. He doubted it was a tumor either. "I don't have brain cancer."

Foreman said, "That's like an Alzheimer's patient insisting she would remember if she forgot something. If you have brain cancer, you wouldn't know it, since it would probably already be altering your perception and thinking."

Chase continued. "And you can't have sex with us either, until we know that, whatever this is - if it's not cancer - then it's at least not contagious."

Wilson felt like a drifting life-boat cut from the ship as it steamed its merry way over the horizon. "I'm sorry." He whispered. Desperate for them to believe him. He wanted to shout that the drive to force himself on House was still there. But he was terrified to voice it. Then he really might be sent away. He couldn't bear to be separated from House again. He couldn't bear to lose his son. This was the only family he would ever have now.

"We know you're sorry." Foreman answered. "But understand, we have to be sure. If it happened again, and you hurt House, I mean really hurt him, even without meaning to . . ."

Wilson nodded continuously. Tiny dips of his trembling chin. "I know, I know. . ." Inside the creature said _I won't hurt him next time._

Foreman seemed satisfied. "Then let's have some dinner. I'll cook tonight."

-

-

Foreman and Chase had taken the motorcycle and gasoline Josh had so thoughtfully provided, and taken the cart out hunting. They were after game. It was Rut season and they knew they could bag two or three elk at least to jerk before winter.

Wilson was bone weary from House's rigorous set of tests to determine if he was losing his marbles.

Had it been a TIA? He'd been poked and bled, and his blood left to settle to check for clotting factors.

Hypertension related anxiety? They'd fed him blood thinning willow bark brews and relaxing teas to thin his blood. But the only thing Wilson remained anxious over was getting into House's pants.

Generalized stress? House had made Foreman run him up and down hills until his legs burned and his lungs felt ready to pop, to see if regular exercise made any difference. Sleeping more was the only result.

House even had Chase hypnotize Wilson to try and curb his sexual lusts through suggestion. Wilson had argued through-out the session with his eyes closed, and woke up as horny-nuts as ever.

A month had elapsed since the testing of his body and mind had begun, and Wilson was beginning to feel like a lab monkey with the eyes of a room-full of doctors locked on him to see if he was going to go ballistic and rattle his cage.

But all he wanted to do today was talk. "Do you want to chat?" He asked quietly. Sheepishly. "About anything?"

The breakfast dishes were done and put away, the babies were fed, changed and in their play-pen. After, House usually enjoyed a half hour of watching his kids play, and also picking up each of his sons in turn for some hands-on cuddling, a past-time both participants, parent and child, looked forward to. If the boys didn't get their regular fuss time, they fussed worse. Babies had inner time-clocks too.

Eli had stayed behind from the hunting and hung nearby, just inside the kitchen, trying to hear everything Wilson was saying to House. None of the family of men were yet willing to leave him alone with the BM. So Eli keep his eyes on Wilson. And he watched House, his mate, care for their children, his two sons among them. That's all that Wilson was allowed to do with House now. Sit but not too close, and talk if House agreed.

Lately he always agreed. After the rape, contrary to his usual dismissive personality, House seemed determined _not _to neglect Wilson. Soft spot for sure.

The children Wilson was allowed to touch and cuddle and Gordon, Foreman's baby by House, sat up on Wilson's lap, eyes as bright and round as his dads. The kid was looking more and more like his sire-dad every day. While Wilson allowed Gordon to explore the front of his shirt with little fingers and a teething mouth full of slobber, he delighted in a secret voyeurism of House. Of the sexual variety of course, but also of the dad-and-baby-at-play variety. It was a private delight to watch House be a daddy. Drake sat on his lap, flapping his arms as though he'd just discovered they were wings, and giggling.

Every minute or so, House would look down at his new-born laying beside him on the couch, dressed in a diaper and wrapped loosely in a blanket to keep out the drafts. Duncan was Eli's second child, a plump powerhouse of a boy whose lungs packed a wallop when it came to crying for his food.

Watching House enjoy their children, Wilson felt empty. He also felt a little nervous to find himself this close to House, and on the couch of all places, so soon after his attack. However empty his heart, was it a good time to talk about things, if they were good things?

Save for his terrible confession on the bed his second week home, House had kept his own counsel on his year long absence and the things that had happened to him there. Wilson knew he could ask Eli and probably get all the answers he wanted, but he hated for Eli to think that the man - himself - whom House claimed to love the most, wasn't the man House told the secrets of his heart to. Why would House want to confess to a rapist anyway. Even if that rapist used to be his best friend.

House set Drake back in the play pen and Drake immediately started tugging on Reid's tee-shirt. House picked up Rowan who set up a little fuss. House ignored it and spent several minutes examining his son. He paid particular attention to Rowan's eyes. Wilson had noticed that, ever since returning home, House, more frequently than necessary, checked the physical health of all six children by palpating their abdomens, measuring weight and growth, checking for marks, rashes or sunburn.

Only Drake, skin as white as the goat cottage cheese Wilson frequently set in the cellar, suffered from the effects of too much sun and some time ago House had had Chase erect a canvas sun-screen over the babies out door play pen to protect them from its harmful rays, chastising Wilson for not doing so from the beginning. Wilson had protested by assuring House the kids were never left outside for longer than twenty minutes at a time when the sun was high, and never without their make-shift tee-shirt bonnets.

Still it was heart-warming to again enjoy the pleasure of watching House play with a baby. Or play at _all_, over anything. It's not that House wasn't a man who enjoyed his leisure time, back when life-styles allowed for it, but he had not done so since before Outbreak. None of them experienced a real demarcation between work time and pleasure, since every hour of "leisure" time was spent taking care of eight children, and one on the way. Despite the relentless toil, though, it was a good life. A life that was almost, not quite, but just-about-getting-there back to pre-Outbreak normals. The children were the basis for that life, as hard as it sometimes was.

House sporting a tiny smile with teeth showing was practically a party.

Shaking his head at Wilson's impromptu question, House knew Wilson was either hoping he'd talk about the year spent with his abductors, or about the baby Wilson wanted, or about the rape he almost completed to get that baby. House someday might tell Wilson all he wanted to know about his forced absence, but not today. As to Wilson's other possible strings of conversation, House didn't want another baby, and that he did not want to talk about - ever. Reuben had been an accident. His unborn had been a sabotage. Though he loved Reuben as much as the others, as he would the one still in his belly, he was done with being baby-machine.

As for the rape. Wilson was ill. What was there to discuss but the test results? Each one, a fat nada. A list existed in House's mind of the rigorous tests they had run. Not laboratory of course, but anything else they could think of and carry out that might shed some light on why Wilson had turned from mild mannered Clark Kent into Superman's lecherous double.

To Wilson, it was no surprise when House didn't answer, but he still felt let down. "Look - if I can do anything to make it up to yo-"

"-You can't." Finally House looked at him. "Because it doesn't matter. So stop."

Wilson nodded, dying to push House into saying something, anything, that would comfort them both, but knowing better not to. Years ago, he would have pushed. And pushed, and pushed. But he and House were soft-stepping around each other ever since the attack. "It matters."

"Not in the way you think it does. Not for me."

Asking for another baby now was out of the question. Wilson did want another child, he wanted to see House swollen with it, but he should have gone for help when he saw himself going crazy. He should have talked to Foreman. He should have really talked to House. He almost never properly talked to House. Not with complete honesty. He should have told House that his desire was coming from no where; that he couldn't understand it; that he couldn't control it - that he was scared because of it. Scared for House and for himself.

Maybe then . . .

But instead he'd attacked his lover, not with violent intent, but with forceful intent. Yes, there had been force.

Wilson felt ashamed anew whenever he thought of it. Now it appeared everyone but the late Danny Johnson and himself was going to his grave with more than one tiny, diapered legacy. It was fitting punishment he supposed.

Even Eli had two children now. And soon Chase would have _three._ House's belly had already begun to show the plumpness of another bun in the oven.

Suddenly Wilson was cold with a thought: What if House gives Eli another baby even? Or Foreman? House said he was done with it but it could easily happen again by accident. A condom could break - honesty, this time.

To have House carry another child of his and his alone filled him with a gnawing hunger. It would be a re-affirmation of House's love for him. Proof that Wilson was still his number one man. He was terribly desperate to feel that again. To know it unequivocally. Something inside him was adamant. It _had_ to happen.

To see House tight with his impending offspring. . . Wilson sighed longingly.

For House, though, it seemed that desire itself had come under the BM's bidding. Or House had learned to hate being the only BM in the county. Seduction had taken a back-seat to determination, and House had not slept with him since he had returned home. Certainly not since the rape. Wilson knew he deserved it, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

"You're never going to sleep with me again, are you?"

House looked at him, answering indirectly. "I know you want another baby, and _you_ know I won't give it to you, so _I_ know that you'd be unsatisfied with the sex, and _you_ know it too." House cradled Reuben in his lap. "Plus, you're obviously sick, and until I figure out what's wrong and we've got that under control, I can't afford a night with you. With a condom, you'd probably just feel - I don't know, _de-balled_, and your miserable, weepy mug would piss me off and things between you and me would get worse."

Wilson couldn't argue. Almost the sole reason he wanted to bed House was to knock him up. It never used to be that way. It had been the desire to bed him, yes, the knocking up was a part of it - a great part, but not the only part_. I really am an obsessive, __jealous__, controlling_ - but that appeared to be House's final word on it, and Wilson knew House was correct on one point: House had a right to say no to anything, including making babies, just like the rest of them.

Maybe he _was_ sick. House wouldn't just say that to keep him away, would he? Wilson understood it if so but his own point was, though he did respect House's choice, he wasn't sure he could live with it. He simply couldn't help himself. "Do you really think I have a brain tumor?"

"I don't know. Every test has been negative. Heart-activity, stress, food allergies, urine color, Ph-acidity . . ." Wilson had remained as randy-crazy as ever. The only good news, House thought, was at least Wilson admitted it. "We'll keep our eyes on you, watch for changes or new symptoms. In the meantime, no more babies." House said again, in case Wilson missed it the third time. "Not even by accident."

Wilson nodded. Reuben had been an accident. Reuben had also been over thirty hours of very hard labor for House. House had needed several days to recover from it. Even his body appeared to have protested his last pregnancy. And he was about to have another.

Wilson watched House play with his tiniest son, again checking limbs, eyes, breathing, feeling up his diminutive abdomen. Wilson's eyes drifted lower, to House. To his not quite flat belly. Wilson imagined it rounder, tighter. Pink with blood and his baby nestled inside it, whether from purpose or accident or divine intervention. Wilson's craving was now a starvation. House insisted he was sick, and he was beginning to believe it. The condom sabotage idea had been impulsive and, in the end, stupid.

"I'm so sorry I hurt you."

House dismissed it with a shrug. "You didn't. Not much. And, if you hadn't done it, I might not have noticed how completely insane you were acting, and wouldn't have drawn the conclusion that you're ill. So forget about it."

Wilson would find that impossible. The terrible shame, the stunned look on House's face, the anger, the yelling by Foreman and Eli. Then, when they finally told Chase what had happened, his threats of violence - _"You son-of-a-bitch! If you ever lay a hand on him again, I'll beat you __unconscious__!" _

And the most shocking sense of memory about it, the one that kept coming back to his mind again and again, making him stand clear as House happened to pass by, limping on his cane, so vulnerable, so unaware of his body's power to make Wilson shake with desire. It made him never sit too close to House, or touch him or try to catch the sorcerer's scent of his soft BM skin, or see the subdued and helpless nudity of the man whenever he bathed or slept, the utter sexuality exuded by his legs that wrapped around you, his breathing, the way his moan invaded your cock and made it convulse obscenely, his moving lips when he spoke, his perfectly water-blue eyes, the soft, soft skin of his under-belly . . .

Wilson had grown uncomfortably hard, and fell silent, the holding back of his hands and lips a self-inflicted torture. He made himself sit there and _not_ have the pleasure of House. But he wanted to. Christ, he wanted to. Dear god, how he wanted to so _badly. . ._

But the most shocking memory, the worst one associated with the rape, was how right it had felt, even so, to have done it. Naturally, not the force had been right; not the struggle, but the act itself. Perfectly right. Rightly perfect. Sex with House had seemed to him a cog in the works, long missing, finally sliding into place as easily as you please. A fullness of purpose realized. The hand of creation through him bestowed at last, so the wonderful mystery machinery in his lover could then spring to life and work its marvel.

The contact of skin on skin and taut organ in dark paradise had seemed the crowning touch on a life-long work of art. An unveiling to the O-o-o-o-h's of on-lookers. A treasure for the world. Impregnating House would have been his gift to humanity. To life itself.

Wilson was suddenly frightened at the intensity of it all. The weirdness. The weakened self-will. He still ached to fall on House, fuck him senseless and, come hell or high water, watch that belly grow. Wilson felt it to be, for some sick unfathomable reason, the very _sense_ behind why he had been born. And now had become his entire purpose. He breathed only to complete it.

_Fuck me. _"Maybe I _am_ ill."

XXX

Part XVII asap


	17. Chapter 17

REMEMBER ZION

Part XVII

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

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_"I didn't ask to be helplessly sexy."_

_-_

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"He isn't showing any more unusual symptoms."

"Other than getting worse for no reason." House added. "That part _is _unusual."

"Yes, but except for the weight loss and sleeplessness, there's been no other marked difference in his reflexes or response to stimuli. This isn't a brain tumor, and his lymph nodes feel perfectly normal. No swelling." Chase said, chewing his thumb-nail.

Foreman added "Chase means perfectly normal _other_ than wanting to mindlessly screw your brains out and throwing up everything he eats."

House rejected both statements with a shake of his head. "This has got be some sort of neurological disorder. Or maybe just a severe anxiety/depression response. If so, with enough rest, he'll come out of it."

""Got to be" neurological?" Foreman said. "It could just as easily be some new viral strain of influenza, or a microbe."

House looked sharply at him. "It's not those." He snapped.

With arms crossed, Foreman leaned against the kitchen counter and studied his stubborn lover seated on the chair, easing his post-partum aching back with the one cushion in the house. Eli and Chase made up the rest of the meeting.

The little good any sleep seemed to be doing him, Wilson was never-the-less confined to his bed. He was getting too weak for much else.

Chase let his worried fingernails fall away from his mouth. With an exasperated sigh, "How can you be so sure? You don't _know_."

House said quietly "I know if it's anything other than something we can treat with willow bark, talk therapy or chicken soup, he's just going to get worse."

Eli had been silent up until now. He felt he had little place to offer any opinions as to medical theories, but he wasn't above pointing out the obvious. "But he is worse, isn't he?"

House had given birth to his latest child one month ago to the joy of the household save for the agony of one member; Wilson had wept like a baby and climbed into bed like a child deprived of his favorite toy.

He hadn't even wanted to see Chase's new addition, whom Chase named Callum. "My mother's father." He said to House in way of explanation when House remarked the name may as well have been "colon".

"At least he's a cute little shit." House had stared with contement, and some dissappointment that the baby already had Chase's knob-ended nose and fair locks. "When are one of these going to look like me?"

But Wilson had turned into a weeping, jelly-fish, crawled beneath the covers and had not left the bedroom since. That's when the real worry had begun.

House nodded. "Yes, he's worse." Wilson was much worse. He had lost dozens of pounds and was unable to explain why he could hardly eat and when he did, was unable to keep much food down. Many palpations of his stomach had evoked no pain response, and elixirs designed to facilitate weight-gain and ease of digestion had produced little change, other than a scorched throat from the repeated after-any-meal vomiting.

"Then it must be profound depression." Chase said.

""Must be"?" Foreman asked.

Chase gestured to House with a lazy finger, "He started it."

"Well, I've never seen a depression this bad." Foreman shrugged his shoulders. "But it's as valid a theory as any, and I'm out of ideas."

To his own depression, House was unable to think of anything brilliant. Gone were the days of labs, repeated tests, trials and errors. As a physician and diagnostician, House felt out-of-touch, and they were out of time. If they couldn't get enough food and water down his gullet, Wilson was going to waste away and die.

"We force-feed him." House said.

Eyebrows raised. "Excuse me?"

House didn't look at any of them. It would be hard, maybe even a little cruel, but "Wilson is twenty pounds underweight. If we don't get calories in him quickly, and figure some way to keep it there, he's going to die. After that, whatever else is wrong won't matter."

"He's throwing up most of what he takes in." Chase reminded him.

House nodded, but didn't abandoned his idea. So far, it was the only one on the table. "So, we feed him again. And again and again if we have to. We mash it, we sweeten it with honey, with ginger, with whatever we have that might encourage his body to accept the food." House thought of something. "I once read a baked potato eased nausea."

"Wilson hasn't complained of any nausea."

"Maybe his body is experiencing it, only his brain doesn't know it. It's too distracted with . . .everything else."

No one voiced that of which they were all well aware. Wilson was pining after House. He wanted a child and had nearly succeeded in raping House to get it. And now he was acting like a horny depressed, sickly teenager and getting worse every day.

"However you want to slice it, Wilson's going nuts. He might even be dying." House looked around the room with a challenge. "Anyone got anything better? - jump in."

No one spoke.

Eli stood. "I'll start boiling and mashing potatoes, just tell me what else you want in the pot."

-

-

Chase washed and sterilized a galvanized funnel that had once been used for the pouring of motor oil. He wrapped plastic around the bottom so as not to scrape or damage Wilson's teeth. Eli readied the cooling mixture of high calorie mush he had prepared according to House, and Chase's, culinary instructions.

Foreman and Chase had Wilson held between them and, despite his weakness, Wilson fought like a wild cat. Foreman forced Wilson to sit up against the back-board of the bed and forced his jaw open with vice-like fingers, Foreman's work-hardened forearms taut and shaking under the strain.

Wilson thrashed and slapped at the offending device and his attackers. "What the fuck are you doing? Let g-g-agh!"

Eli held the wide end of the funnel steady as Chase eased the narrow end as far down into Wilson's throat as it would safely go. "Swallow whatever comes, Wilson, or you're liable to choke." Chase instructed with some apology.

Eli and Foreman kept Wilson's arms at his side, Chase held the funnel in place and House began to slowly pour the watered down mush into his sick lover's mouth. "Sorry." He whispered softly, though Wilson had probably not heard him above his own slobbered gulping.

After the bowl was nearly empty, the funnel was removed and Wilson, weak now from the struggle, his weakened muscles shaking with protest, was laid down on his right side.

"Put him in Fowler's position." Chase said, and demonstrated to Eli how to roll Wilson onto his right side, yet leaning his torso slightly toward the mattress, with his left knee drawn up and bent at about ninety-five degrees. "In twenty minutes, if we can keep him this way, his pyloric sphincter will dump the contents of his stomach into his duodenum." Chase saw that Eli wasn't certain about the terminology. "His small intestine. Once food is in there, it can't be vomited up."

Once Wilson was positioned, House and Chase waited in the bedroom to keep an eye on Wilson, while Foreman and Eli descended the stairs to watch over and care for their hungry children, who had begun to cry for their own supper.

Almost immediately, Wilson tried to roll over onto his back and Chase caught him, pushing him back onto his side.

This struggle Chase kept up for half an hour, finally lying beside Wilson and keeping him in position by force. Hardly any force was necessary by that time. Wilson was limp and pouring creeks of sweat.

Chase frowned. He felt a shiver run through Wilson's body from his shoulders to his feet. "Shit. I think he's fevered."

House sat down on the bed. "Go help Foreman with the kids. I'll stay with him."

Chase knew it House's decision and, by rights, his place to make it. Wilson had been House's first love, years before that love was even acknowledged by either man.

"Sure." Chase left, giving House the privacy he wanted.

He set his cane against the wall and lay down beside and facing his friend, wrapping his arms around him and draping his aching right leg over Wilson's shivering one. Wilson was thin, pale and trembling like a two-week-old kitten trying to walk for the first time.

It didn't seem to matter so much why Wilson had reached this state, as what could they do about it? House was out of ideas and for the first time since the whole mess had begun, felt fear. The possibility now existed that he might lose his closest mate and friend.

House started rubbing tiny circles on Wilson's back, his skin damp beneath his rough cotton shirt. It seemed to calm the shivering down somewhat. After an hour, Wilson's breathing settled into the shallow rhythms of sleep and House got up, rubbed his cramping thigh for a few minutes, then went down to the kitchen, joining the others at supper.

The first hurdle was passed. A few more to go.

-

-

"Cool bath number two completed." Eli and Chase descended the stairs and Chase reported to Foreman and House, who were in the living room giving the babies some much needed affection.

Chase flopped wearily on the couch and continued. "It's only providing short-term relief from the fever."

Both he and Eli were drenched in sweat from the heavy, wet work of giving Wilson a bath, which proved necessary at three times a day. His sheets were continuously changed and washed as Wilson slowly lost control of his body, regularly soiling everything. Each of the men took turns playing nurse. On day two of this new and most unpleasant symptom, they had abandoned all hope of keeping Wilson in clean clothes and now tucked him beneath the sheets naked, save for a thickly folded cotton sheet beneath his lower back and buttocks to absorb the next soiling that ever promised to arrive.

"Maybe this isn't a tumor," House said.

The group of men sat down to another rapidly prepared meal among repeated, shared visits to the sick room.

The children had been kept away from Wilson in case whatever was wrong with him, though clearly not contagious to the adults, might very well be so to the kids.

"This might be neurological." House looked at Foreman over the lunch table. "Does this look remotely like anything you ever encountered in practice?"

Foreman shook his head. "But there are dozens of things I never had the opportunity to encounter."

House thought for a moment. "And there are dozens of things you _will have_ never encountered."

"Meaning?"

"It's a new world. New viruses, we saw what just one did a few years ago when everything in a skirt disappeared."

"But that was a mutated virus." Foreman answered. "Not likely anything brand new, just something we hadn't seen before."

"Up until two years ago, no one had ever seen me pregnant." House pointed out. "There are brand new things."

Chase piped in. "House has a point. Wilson's fever might be environmentally caused. Something has changed recently."

Foreman shook his head. "Okay, it might be a new virus or a it might be an allergy," He said, looking just at House, "but as far as I know, nothing recently has changed for Wilson except not getting his rocks off with you."

House stared at Foreman. "When I was lying with him a few days ago, it seemed to sooth him."

Chase said "Of course, he needed comfort-"

"-No, no. Not emotionally soothed - physically. His shivering went away."

Foreman shrugged his shoulders. "He had a temperature, you provided an extra body..."

"Maybe it went away for another reason?" House suggested, waiting for their minds to catch up with his.

Chase awakened first. "You mean, Wilson's sickness might be because you haven't been around him much?"

Foreman chuckled. "There's a new one."

House stuck his nose out at Foreman. "Thank you, Flip."

Foreman frowned. "Who?"

House shook his head at his younger colleagues. Their lack of knowledge regarding television trivia was truly deplorable. "Never mind. Maybe he's missing, in the physical sense, my body." House hurried on. "And before your next wise crack, just listen.

"The pheromones that turn all of you average American males, including Wilson, into rutting pigs in spring musk, maybe have some kind of reverse effect? Symptoms in absence of some chemical my body produces during sex. In other words, if you don't get a taste of my ass on a regular basis, you go nuts." House enjoyed the expressions on the faces of his mates regarding his little theory. Chase was blushing. Foreman probably was, but he couldn't tell under the man's charcoal skin.

"Score one for the cripple." House quipped.

"So it's your fault." Chase said, tickling the theory a little just to see House's reaction.

"And also _not_ mine." House answered. "I didn't ask to be helplessly sexy."

Foreman regarded House with resigned affection. They might be sexual hogs, but House never exactly complained about his wild and crazy sex appeal. "And how do we test this theory out?" he asked.

House leaned back in his chair. "We do a trial. Two test subjects, one control." House looked around at each of them. "Straws on who gets to be the control?"

The family of men all looked at one another. No one was offering. House, however, was satisfied he'd made a reasonable diagnosis. Now they had to perform the "labs".

He tapped his cane on the floor as though rendering a verdict. "This is going to be fun."

-

-

Foreman turned out to be the control, and that night, House, Chase and Eli bedded down together in the larger room that contained the kid's cradles, while Foreman curled up on the floor in the smaller room occupied by their patient.

After several days, Foreman reported no change in how he felt in general. "And no extra horniness," He reported to House, "as you so aptly phrased it. No surprise since you were gone for a year and I didn't lose my marbles then."

House felt let down. "I was hoping something would manifest . . .something has changed. Has to be. But other than a few nights of sky rocketing sex for the rest of us, all-in-all this was a failure."

Leaving the doctoring to the doctors in the room, Eli asked. "Now what?"

House shook his head. "I don't know."

-

-

The next morning, Chase checked on Wilson and reported to the others, "Wilson's worse. He's delirious."

House made his way to Wilson's room and found his friend in a fitful sleep, drenched with sweat. His skin was becoming flaky from dehydration; no amount of water or food they poured down his throat made much difference - he was sweating and pooping it all out.

The room smelled faintly of bowel and soap. House perched on the edge of the bed, his upper body turned so he could look directly at his friend. "Hey." He said to his patient who was oblivious to everything but his dying slumber.

"My failure face." House remarked, placing a palm on Wilson's forehead to still the involuntary movements inside his nightmare. "Come on, Wilson, you know you love it - seeing me humbled."

House could feel the fever-burn consuming his friend, and see his flesh slowly wasting beneath the scaly surface. The tolling bells of a lurking death. Soon his lungs would fill with fluid, and his heart would start working much harder to get the oxygen-poor blood to his cells. Not long after, as it so often went, the struggle would abruptly end.

House lay down beside his friend and settled in, wrapping his arms around him to wait for the inevitable. "Who would have thought that _you_ would be the one to beat me."

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Part XVIII asap


	18. Chapter 18

REMEMBER ZION

Part XVIII

By GeeLady

Time-line:Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven

Summary: "Take what you like and pay for it, says God." (Spanish proverb)

Pairing: House/Wilson/Multiples.

Rating: NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. Alternate Universe. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. Implausible medical conditions.

Disclaimer: If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, suspend your disbelief. I will never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

NOTE:

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XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXTo House's frazzled senses, Wilson began his tiny kisses again that sent shivers up and down his back. It was a mini-earth quake of fleshly sensations sent by a horny god with really nice hair.

-

-

-

House was awakened to the stirrings beside him. A body was shifting and moving in the slow, under-water activities of sleep.

He opened his eyes to find Wilson's rich browns staring back at him, curiously, as though he had expected someone else, or even no one, curled up beside him, long limbs draped over and entwined in his own.

At seeing his dying friend awake with color in his cheeks, House recovered his shock very quickly and asked. "You're still here, huh?"

Wilson frowned. "Wasn't planning on going anywhere." He seemed confused by the whole situation. "Am I, or..." He looked down at his nakedness beneath the covers, "_was_ I, sick?" He yawned.

House struggled to free his appendages from the warm crevasses of Wilson's body. "Dying, actually. Or so we thought." House kept his features very carefully still. A mannerism from long past, Wilson recognized, as a struggle to keep emotions in check. "Looks like I was wrong." He sounded gratified.

Sitting up alongside House, Wilson tested out his arms and legs. He was stiff from lying motionless for days and he had a camel's thirst. But other than that he felt rested. Rejuvenated. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink or was this just a love 'im and leave 'im sort of seduction?"

"Be right back." House crimped down the stairs to find his mates slumped around the kitchen table. Morning was just cracking pink, and everyone looked like their favorite puppy had gotten lost in the snow.

"Hey." Naked from tip to toe, House entered the kitchen and scooped a cup full of water from the lidded-bucket Wilson - and lately Chase - always kept on hand. "What's with the long faces?"

Foreman looked at House like maybe the grief had gotten to his senses. "Whaddya' mean?" Nobody asked why House was naked. Everyone was quietly enjoying the view.

House turned and headed toward the stairs again, cane in one hand, cup in the other. "Whaddya mean what do I mean? Wilson's better. Somebody make some breakfast."

Chase exchanged glances with Foreman that affirmed their mutual thought -Wilson would be dead by now. Ought to be. Medically and officially should be. House had to be crazy with grief. "House," Chase said gently, "that's impossible."

They saw House's head bob in affirmation as he continued to climb the stairs. "You're right. I'm totally lying about this. But just in case I'm not, make some breakfast."

Three sets of heavy feet pounded the stairs after House.

-

-

Wilson rallied and seemed beside himself with affection for his long, lost bed-mate.

House rolled over and opened his eyes. Wilson was leaning his head on one elbow, though he was still naked beneath the covers and ogling House. House felt the chill of the air and looked down at himself. He was naked from head to foot. All the covers were on Wilson's side of the bed. Were, in fact, curled up in his fisted right hand.

House didn't mind the ogling but, "I'm cold."

Wilson tossed the covers back but continued to stare until House threw off the blankets and struggled to get up. "I need some breakfast. You've got happy written all over your face and its making me nauseous."

Wilson reached out and placed a restraining hand on House's upper arm. "Don't leave yet, babe', I want to cuddle some more."

God how he hated that love-smeared moniker. "Sorry. I'm all cuddled out. Call my secretary, she'll book you in for next week."

But Wilson didn't let go. "House..." He said his name on a filament of spider silk as though carried on the wind from a thousand miles away. House turned around at the weirdness of it. Wilson had thrown back his own covers. He was naked and so hard, the thing seemed to be twice the size it normally would have.

House stared for a moment, fascinated at the sight of Wilson's penis fighting for status against the Washington monument. But as tasty as it looked, "No way, rocket-man. For now, that's out."

But Wilson would not release House's arm. House felt Wilson's tapered fingers pinch into his flesh and it hurt enough for him to look sharply at his friend. "Let go Wilson."

For an answer, Wilson sat up quickly as slim men often can and, with both hands grasping his upper arms, firmly pulled House back down onto the mattress. He had an effective enough hold on House's arms that House was having difficulty getting any leverage with his elbows to fight him off. He couldn't get even a finger close enough to Wilson's strategic grip to loosen Wilson's surprising wrestle-hold. "Fucking let go."

Wilson ignored his protests and began kissing his neck, leaving little wet, warm places on his skin that swiftly chilled in the cooler air of the room. It felt nice. So-o-o nice. House shook his head. Damn! His own hormones were responding to Wilson.

Wilson took House's weakening physical resistance as approval and turned House over in one lightening smooth motion, laying his full body down on him, all the time whispering tiny secret words of sex in his ear; about all the things he was going to do to House, how slowly or how fast, whther he would pump in and out of him like a train slwoly gathering steam or pound him hard from beginning to end as though at full tilt from the gate. Then he topped it all off by telling him how often he was going to do each delicious activity.

House swallowed as Wilson ended his seduction with, "And then I'm going to start all over again."

House's heart pounded and it was all he could do to not writhe his ass against Wilson's cock-iron presence. He was this close to be ridden like a prize colt and he almost didn't care. "Wilson, please don't do this."

Wilson craned his neck down to look into House's shining blue eyes. His own were fevered-fired chocolate, oozing with want. House felt like his Wilson had somehow been supplanted with this unbelievably talented player who had nearly stripped him of all defenses with some kisses and a few well-strung together sentences. Wilson's cock-rock poking at his entrance didn't do any harm either.

"This is right." Wilson breathed the words through lips that hardly moved. "This is you and me. It's perfect. Fucking forever and always perfect. My sex in yours, making the perfect baby, House. I need you to do this for me. I want you tight with my child."

To House's frazzled senses, Wilson began his tiny kisses again that sent shivers up and down his back. It was a mini-earth quake of fleshly sensations sent by a horny god with really nice hair. If he didn't get out of this in the next minute, he was going to give in and let Wilson do whatever the hell he wanted, in as many ways, positions and manner of force as amused him.

With his bad leg, House didn't have the power necessary to throw Wilson's weight off, nor was talking to him doing any damn good - not that it ever did in any situation. But he wasn't entirely without recourse. House caressed the skin of Wilson's rib-cage with gentle fingers. Then he took as much of that flesh in between his forefinger and thumb as was possible and twisted it, trying to actually twist it off.

Wilson yelled, rolling away from the pain his lover had just inflicted on him. Now free to move, House rolled the other direction, and got to his feet. He could already see the bruising begin on Wilson's side, just above the line of his navel. It had been as vicious a purple-nurple as he had ever given anyone.

Wilson stared at him like the only sane one in the room was himself. "Why in the hell did you do that!?"

House mirrored his friend's incredulous look. While keeping his eyes on Wilson he yelled for whoever would hear. "HEY! FOREMAN, ELI - SOMEBODY GET UP HERE!"

In a moment, heavy footsteps ace43nded the stairs and the door was torn open. Foreman stepped into the room. It only took him a second to gather what had just occurred. "Not again."

House, not looking scared this time at all, just sorely disappointed that Wilson had resorted to his dark side once more. And a little annoyed that their pet theory had proved incorrect. He folded his hands on his elbows and nodded toward Wilson. "Get him in a cold bath."

Foreman helped a bewildered Wilson, naked as a jay-bird, to his feet and lead him from the room.

House slipped into his wrinkled jeans and stained tee-shirt. Screw this for now. At the moment they could not re-assess their failed differential on Wilson, and House was hungry and pretty well sick of the whole mess. Besides, he wanted to see his kids.

-

-

"You don't remember trying to rape me? Again?"

Wilson stared at House like he'd gone crazy. "Of course not." He was insulted. "I may be horny but I'm not an asshole."

"You really don't remember anything?" House asked. "Because you were not only horny, you were an asshole times two."

Angry at the accusations. "No, I don't remember." He answered testily, "And I think I would recall turning into a rapist!"

House stared at his friend. "I'd think that, too, only you did but for some reason, you don't."

"Maybe it's the hormones?" Chase suggested, wanting to put the brakes on House's playful word games before they gathered momentum. It would get them nowhere and give him a headache for sure.

House snorked at a theory he saw as lazy. "Not everything is the hormones."

"I mean your hormones, or pheromones, rather." Chase reiterated. "They make us all nuts. Maybe they made Wilson nuts - literally."

House tossed in his last word-fun for the evening. "It certainly made his nuts nuts. What about the rest of him?"

Foreman shrugged when House looked at him. "Other than needing twenty or thirty thousand calories over the next week or so, Wilson looks fine. He sounds fine. As far as any of us can see, he is fine. The only variable was you." He insisted to House. "You laid with him for - what? - four days? And suddenly he's up walking and talking, as apple-cheeked as the day he was born."

House spent a moment reluctantly considering it. "Then why didn't any of you die the year I was gone?" House didn't like this theory. It would only lead to, he feared, one possible place. "That was your idea, Foreman, explain it."

Foreman sighed at his lover's stubbornness, and spur-of-the-moment conveniently inaccurate memory. "It was your idea. It was my contention that you were wrong. Now I'm contending that I was wrong about you being wrong." He smiled to himself, rather liking using House's own word-play phrasing right back at him.

House was not one to miss a verbal back-handed shot or, in this case, back-handed tickle. He narrowed his eyes. "You don't say that half as well as I do."

Eli, entirely filling the easy chair with his muscled bulk and quiet up until this point, finally spoke what the others had been dancing around. Why the hell did doctors have to beat the point so damn much it was unrecognizable? He said to House. "Looks like the only cure, sweetie, is for you to sleep with Wilson."

House didn't like that idea. He liked it, but didn't. "Wilson just doesn't want to have sex, he wants to leave his spawn behind, and I'm done with popping screamies." House added snappishly. "And keep your "sweeties" to yourself."

Eli grinned openly, irritating his lover even further, though it was plain that House didn't mean it.

"We have nine kids. Nine!" House stared at them and their anxious penises each in turn. "So you can shelve any half-cocked ideas."

But House had a feeling it was all going to come down to him dropping his pants again. He waved his cane at them all. "I'm sick of being the only one who can't do his fly up on a regular basis. This isn't fair -"

House paced and let loose on all of them. Foreman, leaning against the living room wall, rested his forehead on two fingers and Chase and Eli by habit stayed quiet, enduring their hormonal lover's tantrum. Nothing shut House up once he was on a roll.

"-because of your dicks, I think I actually got a stretch mark last time, so from now on if you're feeling up for a House party, go diddle your penises in a knot hole - I'm through!"

House's tirade had disturbed the kids and many of them set up with wails of fret.

Ignoring them for the moment, House slumped down on the couch beside Chase. When Chase draped one arm around House's shoulders, he didn't protest, but looked up at all of them sheepishly, aware that he had just vented some long pent-up frustration. House hadn't hated carrying his children, he just hated being expected to. He had to shout a little to be heard above the baby din. "And I'm running out of baby-sitters!"

Eli waited until House's mile-a-minute complaining came to an end. Then, "I meant sleep with him; in the same bed. Close your eyes and sleep. Maybe that's all he needs." Eli knew he'd be having trouble himself if House had banned him from touching him for months at a time.

Contrite, and a little pissed at himself for not considering so simple a solution, especially since he'd just done that very thing; laid with Wilson for two days, and had seen a rapid and remarkable improvement. House took up the idea, racing to catch up the the sensibleness of it. Occam's Razor. How did he forget that one? "S'pose that could work."

"Maybe all Wilson needs is to be near you for a while, Greg." Foreman suggested. "Makes sense. At least in this decade."

To the backhanded insult, "Bite me." House said.

Foreman indulged in a short fantasy of doing just that, nibbling with his teeth, leaving gentle marks of affection on House's skin, in several wonderful places. House could see Foreman's thoughts peek out from a private smile. House blushed, chastising his mate to cover his own rush of vulnerable feelings. "Pay attention, Erik."

"Yeah." Chase was all encouragement and something else that House couldn't quite recognize. "Then you can do it with a condom, and all will be right with the world."

House shook Chase's arm off from around his shoulders. "Guess things in your world are going to south for a while." But House had to admit, it was the simplest solution and the only thing that made sense. Besides, they had nothing else. Doctoring wasn't what it used to be, it was what it used to be way before that. It was the new wild west where a doctor's most sophisticated medicine was willow bark and rest.

-

-

Foreman found House sitting in the middle of the play-pen with his legs straight out, watching and cuddling his crawling, sometimes bawling children. House had learned to tune out the crying. Nine children in a family of five men soon learned that crying got you almost no-where. None kept up the instinctive reaction for long. Eventually all complaints of hunger, attention or the need for a diaper-change were answered, and they each had learned so by virtue of their being no quicker system in place. You simply waited your turn.

House had spent days with the kids almost continuously. It was where he sometimes did his best thinking.

At the moment, House was letting David-James tug at his hair while he held the tiny tot between his hands. David's bird-like ribcage looked ridiculously small, encased as it was in his dad's large fingers.

"Wilson's asleep. He was totally confused, like he had no idea what had just happened." Foreman offered.

House figured as much. Some sort of weird sexual-appetite equals short-term memory loss connection they had neither the equipment or, in all honesty, the genuine experience to diagnose.

Foreman watched the sight of House - his old cantankerous mentor, his former insane genius but sarcastic son-of-a-bitch boss - play with his own tiny baby as would any daddy in any park on Sunday. House was still cantankerous and still a son -of-a-bitch, but he was also their hot-assed breeder who had made them some damn fine babies. "What did happen, by the way?"

Using his left knee, House didn't look up from his game of baby-ride-the-horsie. "Same as before, only this time I got in a shot before he could get in his." David giggled, a high, ear-piercing squeal of delight. "Which means whatever this is, just sleeping with him, the eyes-closed kind of sleep, isn't going to work."

Foreman nodded. "So now what?"

House put David down and lifted Rowan onto his lap. Seems there was only one thing they hadn't tried. "Chase kill any hogs lately?"

"You're thinking of sleeping with him? The non just-close-your-eyes kind?"

"Unless you can think of something else, it's the only thing we haven't tried." House watched his son examine his fat little fingers. He did what all babies did when he wasn't sure what they were exactly, he put them in his mouth.

Maybe all Wilson really needed was a thorough bang. Though why the others didn't get crazy when they were ass-deprived, House didn't know. Maybe it was because Wilson and he had been the closest, not only since Outbreak, but since forever. Maybe because Wilson had developed some sort of weird reverse-allergy, or maybe it was just because Wilson was Wilson. He had always proven an ultra-sensitive girly-man in the sex and romance department.

Was he sex-crazy, or just abstinence-mad? Either was as useful a theory as any they had recently baked up. One good stomp and each of their "diagnosis'" had caved in like so much over-stirred soufflé'.

It was Monday. "We have about a week before Wilson starts showing all the signs of turning into a starving sex-mad, werewolf again."

Foreman knew that. He also knew they currently had no condoms. None of the sire's had tasted their BM's sweetness for a while. Foreman nodded and left to find Chase. "I'll ask him. Hopefully we can be making bacon by the weekend."

XXXXXX

Part XIX asap


	19. Chapter 19

REMEMBER ZION

Part XIX

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

**_I tried to have the next chapter of One Small Consequence ready for Friday, but my mood was on this story, and even its a little late._**

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_"House, there's something you're forgetting - __**you're**__ the new woman." _

-

-

-

House let Wilson screw his lights out, with condom in place, for days. At the end of their week long experiment, Wilson was much improved physically, though sexually pooped. The anxious men were sadly disappointed, however, because despite his much improved physical state, Wilson hadn't hardly spoken a coherent word.

House paced - he couldn't help it. It was a long standing habit he just couldn't give up, cane or no cane, pregnant or barren. "What the hell is going on?" He asked his fellow physicians of the house. He whispered it yet it was meant for them and whoever else might be listening, like Santa or the Easter Bunny.

Whispering kept his own thoughts under control. It made House feel calmer, so he would not just worry or react, but _think._

Foreman had been doing his own thinking while House paced and fretted his nails to the quick. "What if this is the virus - _thee_ virus - in some new form? Mutated so it kills brown-eyes, too? Only more slowly?"

House stopped and stared at his mate. "Wilson's _not_ going to die. Blaming the Outbreak bug is just lazy thinking." House resumed his back and forth movement across the kitchen floor like a duck at a shooting gallery under fire, his thoughts pacing back and forth in time with the bullets. "Now put on your iron-man cap, homie'," House growled, "so we can figure this out."

Chase said "Maybe he just needs a little more sex." _We could all use some more of that. _

House frowned at him. "Are your little piglets big enough yet? 'Cause if you got no intestines, you don't get to stuff sausage."

Chase sighed. Sexually House had been exceptionally aloof with all of them since Wilson had gotten sick. Ironically, the sickest of them was getting far and above his fair share of House's attentions. They all understood and accepted why but, that didn't make it any easier when House walked in his slightly snug jeans. For once Chase was glad he had no tight pants in his wardrobe, and that they had no choice on the farm but to take mostly cold water sponge-baths.

Eli spoke. "Greg." He licked his lips. His opinion was mostly personal, he certainly had no medical opinions to present, but gleaning from what he had heard so far . . . "Maybe Wilson needs to be with you...but _without_ the condom."

House's steady unblinking stare left him a little tongue-tied. "I mean, he seems better except he sounds, uh, a little nuts. Like the sex is working only it isn't. You know, ...working on his _body_, but not his brain."

House had several pointed verbal barbs he could toss back at his largest but non-physician mate. However Eli, the for-all-intents-and-purposes giant, was only showing his concern about Wilson. Despite Wilson's brooding dislike of him in the early months, they had become much closer. House was not sure why, but he was glad Wilson had a shadow watching over him like this mountain-sized, gentle man.

House was tired of the argument that somehow him getting pregnant by Wilson was somehow a cure-all, but he had no breath left to go into how medically absurd the notion was. "I'm _not_ getting pregnant again."

Chase folded his hands on the table, a metaphorical surrender. "Then what do you want to do?"

Foreman took up the call for _reasonable_ reasoning. "This could be schizophrenia, influenza frying his brain - even poison. And we have no way to test for any of them."

House stamped his cane down hard in frustration. "Thanks for the update, but we've pretty much covered that already." He added "Don't you neurologists have any sort of verbal test to check for mental soundness? Logic questions or something? I'm sure I read something about that in medical school."

Foreman ignored House's impatient and biting tone. "Sure there are, but that'll only help us narrow it down to what we already _have_ narrowed it down. Lots of conditions, mental and somatic, can cause brain farts."

House waved his cane toward the stairs at the top of which Wilson lay on the large springy bed with his hands and feet strapped down. "This isn't a fart, it's mental vomit. It's like his body is running his brain instead of the other way around."

Eli said. "You mean his penis is doing all the thinking?"

House ignored Eli's attempt at humor, though it was true enough. "That just makes him no different than the rest of you." House muttered. He sat, his leg finally taking command of the rest of him and forcing rest on his body. "The last time I left Wilson alone - as in not touching him - for longer than a day, he tried clawing through the walls to get to me."

They had gone over this almost the entire night. House looked around at his family of men. Their eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and none of them were any closer to understanding why Wilson was going insane. Only the kids were going to bed with their tummies full and dreaming in relative peace.

"All I know," Eli said, "was when you layed down with Wilson, slept next to him, he looked better and acted less . . .wacko." He stared at the intelligent doctors. "Look, if a half a litre of oil makes my car run half as good as without any oil at all, then adding the right amount of oil ought to make it run smooth." Had he made himself plain enough, or was his engine metaphor stupid? Which one of them was going to snicker?

Chase chuckled just a bit, but it was not directed at Eli. "I think Eli means only your oil makes Wilson's piston work smoothly."

House ignored the sexual innuendo. "It's _idiotic_!" House insisted. "Sex isn't an abstract of the mind, it's just a thingy in the pants."

Eli shrugged. "Not for women."

House rolled his eyes. "Some current events seem to have slipped by you. There are no women anymore. What they think and feel and moan about in the back seats of a Chevy isn't relevant anymore."

Chase thought he understood Eli's meaning, even if at first listen, it seemed a little out to lunch. "House, there's something you're forgetting - _you're_ the new woman."

His face scrunched up in a peeved and grumpy accordion of displeasure. "Keep that up and I'll set all the piggies free. Condoms will go bye-bye."

Chase refused to be put off by House's empty threats of no-sex ever. House enjoyed a good and thorough bang as much as they all did. "But you _are _different now. Who's to say the rest of us aren't? Maybe Wilson's just the first of us to show signs of insanity?

"Listen," He pushed when House showed signs of turning off his ears, "We have no idea what's wrong with him, so we have no idea whether he's contagious or if it's environmental or our altered body chemistry," He pointed a finger at House, "Or _your_ altered chemistry screwing with ours and making alterations. Whatever's afflicting Wilson could infect all of us."

House wanted to ignore the possible implications, and hated to agree Chase's reasonable, though unlikely, scenario. There was no way to predict what was going to happen when they had no real history from which to examine and glean patterns. They themselves were posterity itself. They were making all new history now, and there was not enough of it to really judge anything. He also hated it when Chase buckled down and used his smarts.

Because he _also_ hated that he hadn't come up with it first. House sighed, scratching his forehead in defeat. He had nothing else to suggest that made any better sense. "Shit. As loopy as it sounds, Chase just might be onto something."

-

-

House paced back and forth near the footboard of the bed where Wilson lay sweating and physically deteriorating as before. Lying beside him, touching him, even kissing him, though seeming to sooth for a time, did little to deter his weakening state and what appeared to be steadily warping senses. Wilson babbled nonsense, reached out to people who weren't there. House corrected himself - Wilson reached out _him_ whenever he was still and silent in the room. House even experimented with the distances he could go, either away from or closer to the bed, to gauge Wilson's reactions. Each time, he drew near, Wilson turned his head toward him and his weakened arms stirred between the space of air, trying to connect. It was at the same time endearing and totally creepy.

Wilson had become a sexual zombie, and House was "_Brai-i-ns . . ." . _

House stopped, listening to his friends labored breathing and moaning. He was mumbling about horses or hounds or. . . he might have said _House_. "Why the hell can't you ever get an in-grown toe-nail or crotch-itch like a _normal_ guy?"

Wilson sweated in the semi-dark, the sheen of his body's attempt to cool itself sticking his shirt to his chest. House sat on the bed and unbuttoned the thing, letting it fall to his thinning sides. His ribs had once again shown themselves through his skin. "Even a cannibal would turn down a dinner invite."

House let a great long sigh escape through his lips. Wilson was going to die if they didn't do something soon. Only there was nothing left to do.

One thing, actually. House let his cane fall softly to the rag-woven area rug, and stood on shaky feet. He unbuttoned his shirt, peeled off his tee-shirt and slipped out of his jeans and boxers.

Climbing in beside his best friend who was dying, he wrapped his arms and long legs around his fevered flesh, covering as much of Wilson as possible with his four limbs, to await his body's effect on his mate; to wait for his mate to respond and come back around to something closer to wellness and sanity. Then he'd do what he had to.

What he wanted to. House ran a palm over Wilson's ribcage. He could play Twinkle Little Star on his friends bones if he had a wooden hammer. House settled in for an uncomfortable night of no sleep. But whatever it took. Who cares about sleep?

And what's one more baby anyway? They're kinds small and not much trouble, at least for first year. Besides he had baby-sitters to thrust them upon when he needed a birth-dad's day out.

Pregnancy number,...House had to stop and count. Nine? _Nine_ kids?? He could not believe he had _that_ many.

Wilson stirred, turning his face toward House. He seemed lucid enough but House waited. There was no way to tell anymore.

But "Hey." Wilson whispered.

House felt his heart flutter with a terrible, wonderful relief. "Still here, huh?"

Wilson rasped out one word answerers. "Guess."

House nodded, his cheek rubbing the pillow and making his hair spark with blue static. "Feel better?"

"Bit."

"Kiss?"

"Huh?"

"Want a kiss?"

Wilson smiled - a crack below his nose that if he wasn't looking, House would have missed. "Yeah."

House leaned in and kissed him very tenderly, keeping it up until he sensed Wilson needed to come up for air or pass out. "Better?"

"Guess."

House was disappointed, sighing the low, slow sound of the inevitable. "Sex?"

Wilson smiled a little more. "Sure."

"Raw?"

That puzzled him. "Huh?"

"Raw? No _packaging_."

Wilson trembled with the thought, lifting one finger from his thin arm and running it down House's scratchy cheek, coming to rest on his lip. "Y-e-s-s-s . . ." The thought suddenly imbuing him with enough energy for a word or two more. "Oh - _fuck_ - yes."

House helped a very weak Wilson strip off his clothes. "Lie back." House instructed. "This one's on me." He lifted his stronger left thigh over his friends pelvis and settled down on what he could feel was Wilson's already growing erection. "Or, rather, on _you_."

House could feel his own flesh responding to the very close proximity of Wilson's hardness so close to his entrance. His own body was readying to lubricate for his mate, accept him, suck at his member like a baby on its mother's teat, drink up his semen and make Wilson scream while he came hard inside, shooting his sex all over House's waiting brood-wall.

House slowly lowered himself onto Wilson's hard cock. "A-h-h-h-h-h...Jesus . . ." He himself had missed the feel of the hotness of another man's penis stuffing him up. He took a moment to straighten his legs, first taking one in hand, then the other and pulling Wilson up to a sitting position. "Sit up." He said. "I need you to-"

But Wilson intuitively knew what House wanted. He wrapped his arms around him and clasped them together. Wilson moaned as House squirmed and wriggled.

There - Wilson said in his lover's ear. "Oh, fuck." _That_ was the position. Perfectly sweet ass, hot and tight; doing it's magic for him and only him and nothing except for him. This was the place and tempo to go all night long on. "Oh, baby, I missed you so much." Wilson whispered as House tried to concentrate on making Wilson wild with desire and numb in mind.

"Where have you been?" Wilson asked, as though House had just arrived home from a sales trip to Minnesota. House frowned, ignoring his mates still confused talk.

"Sh-h-h-." House said, trying to keep it light and sweet. "Just fuck me back."

Wilson shut-up and obeyed with ever increasing enthusiasm. "I'm going to make a baby in you."

House rolled his eyes at his lover's chatter. "I know."

"I'm going to make you swell up, House, fuck you as tight as a snare drum."

That was a new one. But he wanted Wilson to last as long as possible. The longer the wait, the longer the build, the more cum House would end up with. Maybe enough to drain Wilson of his insanity or sexual were-wolfishness, or zombified horny sleep or whatever the hell was going wrong in him. Because at this stage frankly - none of them, House included, could think of anything better to try than House getting pregnant by allowing his best zombie friend to fuck him until his goddamn brains spilled out.

Their _differential_ had been ridiculous, the _diagnosis_ practically absent...

House rocked his hips and leaned forward to better have Wilson's cock strike his prostate, rub the tip of his own hardened penis against Wilson's belly button flesh, and make himself quiver all over at the electric shock of it.

...but - God - the _treatment!_ The _treatment_ was . . .

"Fuck me." House babbled back, sinking into the rhythm of sex he remembered as so perfect. Perfect Wilson, his perfect cock and himself. _Who else was here?_ He couldn't remember. It didn't matter.

House kissed his first and only existing mate hard on the lips. The siren draw of his chemical storm called him away from shore and tossed him around in its will like a jelly-fish. Wilson's hunting hands, sliding beneath House's field of vision, were everywhere all at once, never still, always searching greedily for his skin. Before House sunk further into the wet black of sex, he had one last thought over which he had conscious control: _God_, he'd missed this; Wilson's starving need and his insistent and convincing, and ever inviting, penis, danced on the borderline of brutality in his love-making. In seconds, it sent House over the edge and into the helpless depths between now and whenever. Between this and _what_ever - or nothing. Nothing else existed. Just Wilson, and . . . nothing. . .

House stared into Wilson's eyes, who stared back with iron resolution. House felt the storm form words in him and they escaped, unbidden. He had no idea he'd said them until he saw the small lights in Wilson's eyes fire up in answer. House's self-determination raised its white flag, and he left himself in Wilson's hands, without any more doubt or self-direction, except to give Wilson anything he wanted.

"Fuck me as hard as you can stand it," House panted, gasping as Wilson thrust his hips off the bed as far as possible while his breed-mates weight pushing down against him. Pushing, pushing, oh, _pushing_ so wonderfully hard down on his pelvis, swallowing his cock that twitched and snapped like a snake fighting for its life inside the warm belly of a higher beast than itself. Wilson clutched House to him with grasping, demanding fingers, wanting to bring him closer. So single in form that no light could pass between their bodies anymore; so House was _trapped_ there.

House whispered, his voice a soft keen of supplication, hiccuping the words in between Wilson's urgent, unbeatable, undeniable, dominating, cock-thrusts; stabbing the head of his penis up against his prostate and his baby-wall, making itself and its shrill want understood perfectly. In that sound, Wilson found his former, stronger voice, and took ownership of the sweating intertwine of House's long limbs and hell-hot ass. "I am going to so _fucking_knock you up!" He raged softly into House's closest ear, pounding the life out of - and into - him. Wilson bit and nibbled everything his mouth could reach, his balls piling up the stuff in them to send its message deep!deep!_deep!_

To Wilson's smile of pleasure, House mumbled his agreement, like the good little blue-eyed sex-angel he was. "Yeah . . y-yes. F-fuck m-me...pl-_p-l-e-a-s-e_ doh-don't e-ever sto-a-h-h." The last word tumbling into fragments of breath and unintelligible slurs.

Wilson smiled into the silky skin of House's neck, biting him there, kissing and licking this only creature of life that made any living at all worth the effort. House was his again. Every cavern and slope of muscle, every fragrant hair, each tasty inch of his dual-sex and its obedient purpose, each and every eatable, softly begging ounce of him.

Wilson kissed and thrust and imagined the red flushed, _tight_ little belly that would be his; that delightful vision that House would carry around just for him for weeks and weeks, spiced with the tiniest, shyest of irritated smiles whenever Wilson looked his way.

Wilson came and pumped like a mad beast, shooting every drop into House, filling him up. "_My good sweet angel-belly - FUCK!!"_ He wanted to shoot through him and into the walls. He wanted to shaqke House and the whole damn place apart. "Oh - god yeah! Fuck-fuckingsweetmeatHouse-you goddamn sweet ass-you g-god-d-damn sweet fuck!" Wilson surprised even himself. He wasn't usually so verbose during sex. He was more the chatter-after type. The time when House would roll his diamond blue eyes, pull his clothes maybe half-way on before stumbling from the room, and basically making the fastest quarter-mile man-limp exit on record.

As he came down from his rocket-fly, his own moans turning to chuckles at his mental images of House fleeing from emotion-goo (this insane, sexy friend slash BM of his), Wilson remembered from the old days a saying: Physician, heal thyself. Wilson considered it still apropos up to and including this moment. He sighed his pleasure as House came after him, his anus tightening without warning, giving Wilson small heart-and-penis beats of further esctasy. House rocked and clutched at Wilson like a shocked child, trying to swallow his scream of intense pleasure.

_Did I do that to you? _Wilson kissed him softly. "Mmmm....you sweet-hot Blue...."

House went from rigid quivers to a sac of man-potatoes, flopping onto his back, out of breath. The orgasm had leeched the power from him. Wilson stared down at the sweat rising as steam from his lover's skin. He could not see it, but he could feel it, smell it, take it in with each lung full. House smelled like after-sex and pleasure, if pleasure had a smell.

Wilson leaned in closer, sniffing with immpunity. House could not have stopped him if he even wanted to.

Wilson sniffed deeper. House smelled pregnant. He'd been fucked weak as a kitten and pregnant as a absent-minded whore. And that, too, was the goddamned-est hottest thing ever.

Wilson dropped forward, draping his arms up the length of House's chest and settling his cheek on that long and muscular, thoroughly accommodating, delicately haired, lovely, lovely abdomen. "You're knocked up, aren't you?" A BM could tell almost immedietly.

House nodded once, languid as a boneless cat.

Wilson sighed, kissing the belly that would soon start to grow under his probing fingers. _I feel better already._

XXXXX

Part XX asap


	20. Chapter 20

REMEMBER ZION

Part XXf

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

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_Skepticism was the most they'd had of anything for years and, at first hearing, seemed to be the least helpful tool. But it was a necessary weapon of defense. It helped your strategy against change or risk narrowed to surgical strikes; to minimize human error. Assume you understood how things were in the current world - or would be - and you would probably die, or wish you had._

_-_

-

House shuffled into the kitchen the next morning and announced to all of them. "_Yes,_ I'm pregnant. _No_ you can't feel my belly, and last but not least, _shut up."_

House was bothered the most by Wilson, who was floating around on a cloud of air. Even sitting down, House noticed to his infinite irritation, Wilson still acted like he was drifting on a cloud of goofy.

"Wipe that stupid grin off your face." House sat down in his usual cushioned chair, hung overlapped hands on his cane and rested his forehead on his hands. He was happy that Wilson was feeling better - this time it seemed it might last, but he hadn't wanted any more pregnancies. It didn't seem to matter what he wanted because here he was again - pregnant.

Everyone knew well enough not to bother him for a day at least. Until their breeder-mate got used to the idea - or his body did by pumping out the nurturing hormones to drive him (and by proxy everyone else around him), crazy, House would be withdrawn and pissy. Crazy wasn't much better, but it was better than sullen resentment.

Risking House's evil-eye, "It has to be you." Chase remarked. He gestured toward House's belly. "I mean, there must be some substance in your body that you produce that Wilson needs to keep from going crazy."

Heavy sigh. "You're a little behind on current events, Chase." House argued, shocked at how tired he felt from his trek of easing his slightly heavier self out of bed, limping his way to the bathroom, washing his face, slipping on some semblance of clothing, and the last bit of torture for his leg, the walk down the hall and down-stairs to plop in the only chair in the house that had a cushioned seat. Pregnancy sucked! "We tested that theory out, remember? None of you went nuts without my nuts or any other part."

Chase pressed. "Yes, but none of has been with you as long as Wilson has. You and he were practically joined at the hip for almost two decades before Outbreak. Evolution could have chosen him for you and you for him when all this crap started, because you were both compatible even back then. Who says the chemical and physical changes began only _after_ the Virus erupted? Who says nature didn't see it coming?"

Skepticism was the most they'd had of anything for years and, at first hearing, seemed to be the least helpful tool. But it was a necessary weapon of defense. It helped keep your strategy against change or risk narrowed to surgical strikes; to minimize human error. Assume you understood how things were in the current world - or would be - and you would probably die, or wish you had.

House tapped his cane on the worn linoleum floor. "So what? Keep Wilson alive by dropping my pants whenever he has the urge?"

Wilson remarked sarcastically. "Oh, yes, please continue talking about me like I'm not ever here."

True to form, House ignored Wilson's complaint, though he stared at each in turn. "I'm capable of six births a year, and more if any twins come down the pipe. Just how many diapers do you think I'm willing to change?"

Foreman rubbed his head with the heels of his hands. "There must be _some_ way to test this out?"

House jumped in his seat, a hand swiftly moving to tenderly touch his baby bump with a finger. His pregnancy, though obvious, was still on the small side - it had only been a week. But it would soon grow into a substantial swelling, laying right to left across his lower abdomen below his navel like he'd swallowed a three pound zucchini.

House noticed all eyes on him or, more specifically, his tummy. "Quit staring." He grumbled.

But Wilson couldn't help it. "You feeling okay?"

House nodded. "Yes. Your little parasite just kicked me."

Wilson's irritation at his casually dismissed grumble vanished to be replaced by a sudden thrill, a surge of affection and anticipation at his new son growing inside House. He watched House rub one, then two fingers over his small but obvious swelling, momentarily jealous of those fingers. Though he kept his grin in check for the benefit of his pregnant, extra-grumpy mate, secretly all he could think about was laying House down on a soft bed and nibbling that sexy bump for hours. And then planting another seed or fifty down there, taking all night to do it.

As far as Wilson was concerned, House was sexiest when he was thoroughly knocked-up. It brought a cast to his countenance that oozed vulnerability. When House was pregnant, he needed Wilson that much more. He needed all of them, a thing he liked to deny at other times, even though House himself knew it to be true. House pregnant was a more delicate creature who could easily perish if they were all not vigilant. His safety and health, and contentment, became paramount.

Most of all, Wilson loved that a pregnancy forced House to depend on them and draw closer to them. It was like experiencing a raw, new-born version of House, a creature they only got glimpses of whenever any of them had planted a baby, and then watched delightedly as his tummy grew. It was House from some former time when he was a younger man; one they hadn't known. But a good, happier soul; feeling well and unfettered. It was a House un-broken by troubles - au-naturel. Pregnant House was life and a promise - the new Kingdom.

Wilson felt lighter than air. "That's my boy."

House did a silent search for non-existent coffee mug containing a poor liquid substitute.

Wilson noticed his physical question, and went to the fire-burning furnace, where he kept going a hot kettle of water most of the day. Fetching a small pinch of dried, garden-mint tea-leaves, he dropped them in the cup, poured in hot water to the brim, added a tea-spoon of honey and delivered it to House who showed his gratitude by sipping it and nodding to Wilson. A nod wasn't much, but after many years, Wilson had come to recognize the difference between a House-nod that meant he was just humoring you, or one that indicated his thanks. His gratitude nod was a slower gesture made with eye contact. This nod was a thank-you.

Wilson stole a kiss. "I'm going to go check on the kids. Gentleman, please continue your conversation about my re-occurring insanity while I'm gone."

Foreman obliged. "We need samples."

House frowned into his cup and then at Foreman. "Hmm?"

Foreman rolled his eyes. "You're going to make me explain it? Okay. We need a sample of your sexual excretions and Wilson's before, during, and after copulation."

If it was a joke, Foreman wasn't laughing. House definitely wasn't laughing. "First of all - no. Second of all, if my answer was yes - which it _isn't_, but if it was, how do you propose to gather these samples "during"? And third of all - _no!"_

Foreman waved a hand at all present company. "House, we're doctors - " Looking at Eli, " - most of us. We understand about the birds and the bees. In fact, each of us has already made honey and laid eggs - there's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I'm not embarrassed. It's just . . ._private."_

House often became much more sensitive about his body and the invasion of his privates whenever he was carrying. Endearing, yes, but sometimes it proved to be an aggravation too. "Look, we're not talking about filming you and Wilson doing it. You can gather the samples yourselves, and hand them over later."

Chase crossed his arms. He was looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Oh, this is sexy." He rose to leave. "I'm going to help Wilson with the kids."

Foreman ignored the abandonment of him and his idea by his more squeamish mates. "We have the ability to at least run separate and mixed cultures; observe reactions over time. Something to tell us - "

"- what exactly? Whether our fluids get along? Put them together in a petri-dish and see if either files for a divorce?"

"I'm talking empirical data. Do they thrive together or not. Do they die sooner apart? Maybe it won't give us a Latin name for the books, but it might tell us _something_."

House sighed. It was the only new idea they'd had since he's slept with Wilson. So far Wilson was holding his own, but would it last? House feared he was destined to live in a perpetual state of pregnancy until one day his body threw up its hands and said _"I give up - you're too damn old!"_

"I . . .guess, . ." House said hesitantly. What choice did he have? ". . .we can try the stupid cultures."

Several days later House thrust the samples to Foreman's hand. "O-o-o-o, that was romantic. It used to be flowers and candy. Now it's swabs and beakers." House walked away.

Foreman stared after him. "Don't you want to help with the labs?"

House limped on. "Did I ever?"

Foreman did every kind of experiment he could think of on the samples Wilson and House had provided.

House suspected he already knew the answer, but he asked anyway to clear things up. "Well?"

Foreman sat with his thick arms crossed. "Nothing."

House couldn't help himself. "See??"

But Foreman wasn't done yet. "I'm not willing to abandon this theory yet."

House chided him. "Toss him out of the nest, Foreman, he's a hopeless runt."

Foreman uncrossed his arms, stretched out cramped muscles and tried to relax, stiffly laying one hand on the table and tapping out a rhythm.

House suspected the sire was trying too hard to relax. As though he were not relaxed at all. "What?"

"I think we should try the original test again?"

"I'm done with jabbing sticks up my rear."

"I mean the deprivation test. I think we should separate you and Wilson again."

House didn't like the sound of that at all. Not only because it could send Wilson into a downward spiral to god-knows-where-and-why, but because the only thing that brought Wilson all the way back the last time was letting Wilson knock him up. And he didn't want any more of that - the baby part. "He could die."

"We won't let it get that far."

House set his jaw. "Only if Wilson agrees."

-

Wilson lay down on the bed and House, with eyes of apology, wrapped twisted sheets around his wrists and fastened them tightly to the old-fashioned bed-posts. Foreman did the same to his feet.

"Are you sure about this?" House asked.

Wilson tried to shake off his own misgivings and the noticeable worry on House's face with a shrug. "We need to find out."

House couldn't argue with that. It was either this or himself stay pregnant for the rest of his life or until the end of his viable breeding days, which-ever came first. "I'll be here the whole time."

Wilson looked sideways at his friend. "House. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were concerned about me."

"Hormones."

"I'll be fine."

House shook off any doubt. "Of course. I'm Doctor _House_."

"It's a comfort to know, even when you're with-child, that you'll always be a pompass ass."

House cringed at the out-dated euphemism. "The term is _pregnant_."

-

-

This time it only took three days before Wilson turned into a sweating, thrashing, groaning tangle of limbs.

As before, Foreman made notes. "He's running a temperature. He's got the shakes and the sweats. No appetite - "

From his dry lips, Wilson suddenly let loose with a spray of watery bile across himself and the bed-spread.

" - And now vomiting." Foreman put his pad and pencil down. "Just like before."

House was intently watching Wilson. For a minute or so he stared, his eyes moving from the twitching toes of their patient to his sweat-soaked hair. Without warning House dropped his cane and lay down beside him.

Foreman protested. "House, that'll skew the data." He tugged on House's arm to pull him off.

House shook him off with one jerk of his arm. "Let go. I'm testing out a theory of my own." House made certain to allow as much contact between himself and Wilson, covering his arms with his own, and laying his own head on the feverish chest.

After ten minutes, Wilson's shaking subsided. After another five he took a deep, convulsive breath and settled into a calm slumber.

House left the bed, seated himself in a chair nearby and waited.

"What are you doing?" Foreman asked. "What was that experiment supposed to tell us?"

House kept his eyes on Wilson, answering, "I'm not done yet. Wait and watch."

Foreman settled into the room's only other seat, a large antique trunk with a curved lid.

It wasn't long before Wilson stirred and began his spastic jerks, breaking out into a sweat once more.

House once again lay down beside him, doing his best to maximize skin contact. This time he actually licked Wilson's chest a few times.

"You two want to be alone?"

House ignored Foreman and kept up with the licking until his mouth went dry. Once more, Wilson calmed his movements and slept.

Once again, House moved from the bed to the chair and waited.

This time the wait took a little longer, but like a freshly wound toy, Wilson twitched and thrashed until the bed moved with him.

House looked at Foreman with patient inquiry. Foreman had observed the whole scene and with dawn on understanding "It's an addiction."

House nodded. "Yup. I'm his Vicodin." He looked fondly down at his poor, detoxing lover. "Can't wait to break it to him. Our Wilson's a druggie."

Foreman shook his head. "It's not just a neurological thing, or even sexual-drives, it's a chemical, physical addiction."

"Yes. Only with this kind, if you detox until you're clean, you're also dead. This one kills."

"So we suspected this, sort of. And we have an answer of _sorts_, only the solution is the same: he can't be apart from you for too long or the detox will kill him."

"It also means one other thing."

"What's that?"

"I didn't _have_ to get pregnant."

-

-

Chase could hear Foreman's heavy steps on the stairs. "How's Wilson?" Chase was mixing formula. He was also washing diapers. It was incredible how many of both nine baby boys required on a daily basis. Good thing their small flock of chickens had increased to five dozen, and their goats to a nice tidy herd of fourteen. They needed all the eggs and milk they could get. The work feeding and caring for the babies alone ate up his entire day. Foreman, Eli and himself usually took care of the outdoor chores like animal care, trapping, wood chopping and other heavy work. But compared to the twenty-four-seven vigilance a small herd of children needed, the out-door work was looking very appealing. "Is he better?" He hoped. Wilson was the usual indoor nanny, house-keeper, cook and all around House-and-babies assistant. He liked the work.

"Better." Foreman reported as he entered the kitchen. "But not cured."

Chase heard the distinct tone in Foreman's voice that said he knew more, but wasn't himself convinced about the diagnosis. Foreman explained in neutral tones, not completely committing himself to the conclusions yet. "It isn't that Wilson will go nuts without House in his bed, he's addicted to House. Some chemical or substance House produces."

Chase shrugged. "Well, that's pretty much what we figured, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, but we figured it was some sort of sexual symbiosis or something - as even more nuts as that sounds - that Wilson and House had developed. But House thinks it an addiction that Wilson acquired."

"Then why haven't we acquired it?" Chase went back to his stirring. He lowered his voice to keep the conversation between them. "I mean, I like banging House as much as the next guy, but I don't turn into a quivering horny goat when I don't get some."

Foreman decided to disclose the rest of House's loosely stitched hypothesis. "House thinks it's like an allergy, only in reverse. When the others took House away, Wilson's body was deprived once more, it became depleted somehow of whatever House, his "groovy-dudes"- " Foreman raised two palms in the air to ward off any potential mocking Chase might be considering. " - House's words, not mine - it had stored up in itself. Wilson's body didn't turn itself against something from over-exposure, an allergy. Again, House's theory. Anyway, once House was present, Wilson's "nano-jumblies" turned themselves onto House's "mojo" - again, not my words, from under-exposure. Once Wilson had House back beside him, his body went hay-wire."

The theory was insane, and it had House-ego written all over it. "That's fantasy. And it just doesn't follow. _We_ haven't gone hay-wire."

"We haven't hung around House for over twenty years either."

Chase shook his head. "I don't buy it. House was absent for two years at a stretch. Why didn't Wilson go nuts then?"

"_Then_ was barely post-Outbreak. Maybe it's like you suggested; maybe all of our bodies have changed, and are still changing. The sexual reproduction obviously did. You and I have the ability to impregnate a _man_. We've made nine babies in House, it can't be all his doing. Laurent proved BM's don't produce female-type human ova. Somehow our sperm genetically alters House's own somatic cellular DNA to create little cross-replica's of ourselves."

Eli wandered in and sat down. He was hot and dirty from the animal barn, but had caught some of the conversation.

"So why is Wilson the only one that _has_ to have House's "groovy mojo", and we don't?" Chase asked.

Eli rubbed the sweat from his face. A nanny goat had just given birth to twins two nights previous and one of the offspring had been a runt. Eli had taken some time out of each day to check that the smaller animal was getting his fair share of his mother's milk. He listened passively. It all sounded like Darwin talk. Natural selection. Survival of the fittest, and all that. Too pooped to really give any deep thought to it, he said the only thing that came to his layman's mind. "Maybe nature's trying to make something new?"

-

-

House sucked in a sharp breath when a sharp cramp shot across his upper abdomen. He rode it out and finally, it settled. "That was a nasty one."

Chase looked up sharply from his bowl of potatoes and venison stew. "How many have you had?"

"Including this one, three."

Foreman scooted his chair closer to where House sat, chair turned sideways. House found it easier to eat that way, without having to tuck his tummy beneath the edge of the kitchen table, which seemed to have been manufactured for people of short stature.

"Jesus, House. Why didn't you tell us you've been having false labor?" Foreman reached out to palpate House's full term swell, and House slapped his hand away, where-by Foreman slapped House's hand away even harder.

"Ow!" House yelped. "Pregnant man here, jerk."

Foreman ignored House's whimper. "How long have you been having these episodes?"

"They weren't "episodes". I think they're just jostling for position." House commented.

"Jostling - _they??_"Wilson perked up. Each night for the last week, House had slept with him to help keep him as stable as possible until Foreman and Chase finished their experiments in the hopes of discovering which part of House, inside or out, Wilson was addicted to. But House had never said anything about having twins. "There's two?"

House had kept that particular detail to himself until now because he'd wanted first to be sure. "Isn't it obvious?" For some reason it irritated him that Wilson was so happy about it. Twins meant a longer labor and more pain for him. And more babies to feed. And more diapers. "I look like I swallowed a grapefruit and its twin."

Now that Wilson had been made aware of the news, there did appear to be the faintest vertical dip in the surface of his mate's baby bump somewhere near the middle. And the bump was a little larger than usual. Wilson watched Foreman, learning this for the first time also, again palpate the swelling to confirm. Wilson was envious of Foreman's fingers as they moved over House's belly, gently probing and patting. It was also highly erotic.

A lop-sided uninhibited leer spread across Wilson's face. When he got House alone tonight . . .

Another spasm that caused House to double over rudely interrupted Wilson's lecherous thoughts. The cramp passed but soon another replaced it, and House groaned. "Oh, crap." House moaned. "And I just ate."

Eli was jolted from his after-dinner contented slump. "Is it time?" He asked any of his doctor mates with-in earshot.

Foreman lay a hand against House's abdomen, this time farther up his torso. He looked up at Wilson. "Come on, Daddy, let's get House to bed."

Eli assisted House, who was adamant about walking himself up the stairs. Despite House's protests that they all seemed to think he was a total invalid just because he was pregnant, Eli hardly let the man's feet sweep the ground on the way up.

By the time they reached the bedroom and got him laying down, House was in the middle of a long abdominal cramp that stretched out to over a minute. He was keeping up a steady low groan. Each cramp arrived sooner than the last and each spasm was faster than its predecessor. The "caterpillar" phase of his labor had already begun.

"You took us by surprise with this one." Chase took the lead and had Wilson truss up House's genitals so they were out of the way, being careful not to make the arrangement of the sheet too tight.

"My bad." House remarked between spasms that left him too breathless to speak. "Next time, I'll send you a memo."

House endured being undressed like a baby and, naked from the waist-down, was left shivering in the cold air of the room. "Some one turn the damn heat up." He complained with loudly teeth chattering. "I'm freezing."

Eli leaped from the room, anxious to make himself useful. "I'll go stoke the furnace."

"Throw on some more wood, too." Wilson said. Then he turned his attention back to House who, despite his shivering, was already sweating from the effort of his body to push out his new babies One and Two. Wilson applied a damp cloth to his face. "Does it hurt more this time?"

House looked at him with impatience. "Of course it does, you idiot." But there was no malice in his tone.

Wilson whispered. "I'm sorry."

House shrugged, just a twitch of one shoulder. "Not your fault."

Wilson wished there didn't have to be so much pain. House had tangoed with pain most of his adult life, but a birth ought to be something pleasurable. Though it was pleasurable, despite the discomfort his lover had to endure to do it, to watch House give him another child. _Two_ more. "You are so sexy."

House ignored the comment and lost himself in another long, undulating cramp of his distal abdominal's, now working in earnest to separate his new offspring's amniotic sacs from the placental wall, and expel the tiny creatures as efficiently and quickly as nature would allow. Which was, in the new nature of the birthing-male experience, hours and hours and hours. That part of nature had not changed at all.

Another big cramp hit and House suddenly upchucked his dinner all over his tee-shirt and the sheet Wilson had loosely thrown over him.

As Wilson scrambled for clean sheets and Foreman stripped off his soiled tee-shirt, House coughed up the last bits of stew onto his naked chest. Muttering. "Sorry." He lay his head back on the pillow with an exhausted sigh. The nausea had hit hard, launching his dinner without a second's hint.

Wilson cleaned off his chest with a towel, and then wiped his mouth clean with a damp wash-cloth. "Don't worry about it. I should have remembered."

House looked distracted, and not just because his insides were trying to push out two new human beings. His usual barking of orders and crude jokes were strangely absent. Even with hours of labor under the bridge and worn to a wrinkle, House always found opportunities to insult and make fun at all of them. It was, Wilson knew, his way of hiding his own exhilaration at what was happening. For all the agony he went through to make a baby, all the work he put in to daily care for them, and all the complaining he did over both, House seemed remarkably content to keep right on having them.

Wilson half lay on the bed next to him. "Are you okay?"

House turned his head away. A sure sign he was not. "Yeah."

Chase was occupied at that moment, waiting for signs the birth canal was pushing against the thinning flesh of House's perineum, Foreman was getting them all cold water to drink and Eli was in charge of watching over the kids. It was going to be a long, very tiring night.

Wilson leaned over and kissed his cheek, then his dry lips. "Tell me." The kiss, that single and simple touch, sent electric fingers of hot pleasure down his spine. "I love you. _Tell _me. Please."

House sighed but he didn't look at Wilson as he spoke. "I'm tired." That couldn't be all, and Wilson waited. Sure enough. House sighed very heavily. "I'm old."

Wilson suddenly remembered. House was turning fifty-five this year.

"You're not old." Wilson rubbed the palm of his right hand across House's chest, down his torso to the seductively sexy bump below his navel that was just beginning to show signs of shifting farther south. "Do you have any idea how hot and bothered you make me?"

House frowned at the argument. "That's just chemicals."

Wilson lowered his voice and spoke directly into his ear. "I loved fucking you before any of us ever knew you could make a baby. Even if for the others most of it is just chemical, it's never been that for me. I love your body."

House seemed unconvinced. "You're addicted to it."

"Maybe." He acceded that part. "But even when I've had my "dose", I still look at you ever chance I get, I still love your face. Why are you suddenly so down on yourself?"

House shook his head like he was done talking about it. Then he said under his breath, quietly, tiredly, like it wasn't really important anyway. "I'm not doing anything with my life anymore. You guys get to make babies, you get to deliver them, you get to take care of them. You get to take care of me. And I just . . .spread my ugly old-man legs and pop them out." House actually looked like he might cry. His eyes were watering just along the bottom lid, just enough to be noticeable if Wilson looked closely. "I'm not even a doctor anymore. I'm just a stupid BM."

It sounded like his heart was breaking. "Do you regret having sex with me?"

House rolled his eyes. "Of course I don't regret it, I may be sleeping with men and pregnant, but I'm still a _guy_."

"Then why - ?"

"It doesn't matter."

"What doesn't matter?"

"Nothing."

Wilson tried a different tactic. "House. You do so much here. You're the reason any of us are here at all."

"That's not the point."

"What is the point?"

"The point is: _shut up_."

So it was just hormones talking. Had to be. House didn't indulge self-pity. Not to this extent, anyway. House would even suspect it was hormones if he wasn't that he was too caught in the middle of pain, exhaustion and baby-birthing vulnerability to catch on. He was just suffering an old-fashioned bout of cock-a-mommy blues.

Wilson wished he could make him feel better. But even dad-mother's needed time to adjust. "Stop calling the man I love old and ugly. You're not even close to either one." Wilson nuzzled House's cheek as another spasm hit and made House's body go taught as piano wire. When the pain momentarily passed and he relaxed - "You're good looking, you idiot. How could you not know that? You have no idea how good you look. On top of that, you've got the hottest legs in town and the best man-ass I've ever seen."

House appeared unconvinced and muttered "We don't live in a town."

Wilson knew, of course, he was telling House the truth; that the words weren't just platitudes served up like a perfunctory box of cheap chocolates to sooth his troubled soul. "Look, sexy. Just have these two wonderful, gorgeous babies for me, and after you're feeling strong again, we'll see about getting you something more challenging on which to focus that freaky-genius brain."

With another shuddering sigh that could have filled a dingy, House turned his head to look at Wilson. Now he _was_ crying. Just a few droplets trickling off each cheek.

Wilson heaved a lung full of sympathy for his hormonal, partum-depressed breed-mate that only a helpless sire could muster. He was hopelessly in love with House and had been for years. Maybe even before Outbreak. He caught House's chin firmly in one hand and kissed him very deeply on the mouth. "You are not just babies to me. You're _everything._ Whatever you need, we'll figure out some way to make it happen. Okay?" When House didn't acknowledge him, Wilson kissed him again. "Okay??"

House finally nodded. A tiny downward jerk of his head. It would have to do. Wilson kissed him again. "I promise."

House was about to say something else when a long series of undulating spasms erupted, taking his breath away, and making him arch his back and twist on the bed. "Ow, ow. _Goddamn_ - that hurts!"

House spread his legs wider, instinctively making room for the birth canal, giving it the room it needed.

Wilson moved between his legs and called out the door for Chase to boil water and get clean cloths ready. House ignored the gentle prodding of Wilson's fingers between his legs, gently feeling his perineum for an increase of dermal temperature, and for visual signs that the miraculous birthing shunt was about to split through. There was a definite red swelling there. House was close to the last phase of the birthing process.

The caterpilling cramps did not stop again and House was made to settle in for a long haul of pain and a greatly increased need for oxygen, which left him taking quick, deep gasping breaths.

Wilson had observed this now a dozen times at least, and each time it seemed more impossible than the last. It was as though something in House's brain, a new corner of thought and programming, took control over his body, moving his abdominal muscles in a rhythm never-before possible. His body temporarily producing a chemical alteration in the muscle cells that somehow prevented any muscle cramping that would otherwise occur from over-work.

And over-worked they were, as the process of caterpilling could go uninterrupted on for many hours, sometimes days. House's breathing became a regular, deep drawing in and expire of air until he looked like a fish caught on the sand, his mouth gaping, his sides heaving. The pain came now, and stayed, yet House's frantic attempts to throw it off simply stilled and he succumbed under it, limp and helpless, his new reproductive abilities in full command of everything that happened from that moment to the next until the new life was born. It was all new, unique and thrilling. Each and every time it left Wilson dizzy.

House. A male. The love of his life. A man. House the man, his lover, was giving birth to _his_ baby. Two new babies were emerging from his body. It was terrifying and astounding to watch. Foreman was right. House, at least what he was for them, what he did for them, was like a wonderful drug. He was the greatest high on earth.

-

-

"Oh my God." Wilson helped Chase clean the blood off of his two brand new baby twin boys. Both were just over a pound, and perfectly formed. Chubby and healthy, and so tiny it was incredible such ridiculously delicate creatures had sass enough to live and breath. But the high pierced mewling each son set up as soon as he understood he had been pulled from his nice warm bed, and bereft of the nearby soothing beat of his daddy's heart, was living evidence made loud and clear.

Wilson noted the very fair skin of each of his new sons and the cinnamon spice of their hair.

"Ginger-heads." Foreman commented when he leaned in to see for himself. "Check out the eyes."

Wilson did. Blue, as all babies eyes were when new-born. "Too bad they won't stay that way." He said, looking over at House's sleeping form. Eli and Chase had already cleaned House up and tucked him into layers of warm quilts to get his energy back. His caterpilling had gone on for nineteen hours. Not a labor as long as some had been, but not his shortest on record either. Even so, nineteen hours of that kind of unrelenting, unforgiving pain and a gasping for air - that BM involuntary, dying-desperate fish kind of billowing of lungs (that would leave any ordinary man unconscious) - no _wonder_ BM's had to sleep for half a day afterward. "A blue eyed son would make House's year."

Foreman nodded, preoccupied by the twin sets of blue, blue eyes. They were _really_ blue. Robin's egg blue. Glacier-lake-with-the-sun-on-it blue. More blue than the usual new-birth blue.

House's own eye-color blue. "Hmm. Yeah."

XXXXXX

Part XXI right away!


	21. Chapter 21

REMEMBER ZION

Part XXI

By GeeLady

**Time-line:** Sequel to Gone With the World & Riddled With Heaven

**Summary: **_**"Take what you like and pay for it, says God."**_ (Spanish proverb)

**Pairing:** House/Wilson/Multiples.

**Rating:** NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. **Alternate Universe**. Language. Rape. Sexual situations. _**Implausible medical conditions**_. SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** I will never have House, but others in this story certainly do!

_**NOTE:**_ If you want to enjoy this story or its prequels, _**suspend your disbelief**_.

____

"But you don't want another baby, you've got eleven now." On the outside Wilson was being calm and reasonable, willing to accommodate whatever House had said he desired, namely - no more pregnancies. On the inside, he was yodeling off the top of Everest, his dick saluting the great wild world.

_Yes-yes-yes!!_

-

-

After a month. "Still blue, House."

House ignored Wilson's comment about his new twins eyes. "They'll turn, and the brown shall appear. In the end, you brown-eyes always crawl out of the woodwork eventually.

After two months, though. "They're staying blue." House mused one day, puzzled over it. "That can't be. Brown is dominant." He glanced at Wilson. "Unless you've been wearing contacts all these years."

Wilson shook his head. "Innocent."

House balanced his tiniest boys on his lap, one suckling contentedly, the other sucking and frowning up at the tall, tall creature that towered over it; his father. House bit his lip while they drank. "Any blue-eyed people in your family that weren't supposed to be there?"

Wilson frowned now. "Not sure I-?"

"Did your dear sweet, religiously inclined Jewess momma, "incline" herself to a blue-eyed fellah when the Rabbi wasn't looking?"

Wilson couldn't help but smile. "No. Mom was a good girl. And dad owned a store." But House had a real puzzle. The doctor of mysteries had a mystery to figure out, and he was as happy as a pig in shit over it, too. Life was great.

Wilson hoped it would at least alleviate House's depression somewhat.

"Hmmm." Baby John-Daniel gurgled his approval over the formula. Greg-Michael already had his fill and was drifting off to sleep, his tiny head comically lolling to one side, which turned up the corners of House's mouth. The babies were content and still and yet House didn't put them down. He had glued himself to his newest offspring.

Wilson felt himself stiffen under the fabric of his jeans. Wilson knew, where House was concerned, that he was hopeless. House doing almost anything, made him horny. But House holding his babies...

_That_ made House sexier to him than if the man were lounging naked in a tub of pink Jello. Well, not quite, but damn near.

-

-

Wilson tapped Foreman on the shoulder. "Come with me, fellow conspirator."

Foreman raised one weirded-out eyebrow but followed his mate to the back step. "You're acting a little like House. For future reference, that's creepy."

Wilson placed his hands on Foreman's shoulders. "The asshole - Josh - he left behind about fifty gallons of gas, on the trailer, right? We have fifty gallons left?"

Foreman nodded. "Fifty-five."

"Even better." He took a map from his pocket and laid it out on the wood landing. Pointing to a mark on the map - "Look. This is a town, right?"

"Y-e-e-s-s." Obviously.

Wilson was excited. "I want you and me to drive there and pick up something for House."

"Pick up what?"

"A gift."

"This secret chamber routine clued me in to that part. What is it you want to get him, and how do you know its there?"

"It'll be there."

Foreman raised both eyebrows this time. "Even if the town is big enough to have a Walmart, all the good stuff would have been pilfered by now."

"True. But I doubt they would have pilfered anything from the High School."

Wilson was serious, Foreman saw. "What kind of gift would you find in a high school?"

Wilson handed him a small picture cut from a magazine. "Are you serious? A high school won't have anything this top-of-the-line."

"But it'll be enough to keep House occupied."

Foreman seemed unconvinced.

"House needs this, Eric. We've all adapted pretty well to this life, but House, well, he loves his kids but he misses being the genius. He misses having to really think and use his brains for something besides adjusting the kids formula or how many diapers will he need today. He's depressed. This'll make him feel like a kid on Christmas morning."

"He does seem distracted lately. I mean, more than usual." Foreman nodded his head at Wilson.

Wilson could see Foreman's attitude shift. He was coming around to the idea. "I guess, if it _might_ make him happier. . ."

Wilson nudged. "This could help him solve the mystery of my addiction thing, and why his new twins are blue-eyed wonders. Can you imagine his face?"

_Not really._ Prior to Outbreak, Foreman and House had socialized one or two times, and neither of those times had Foreman seen House smile or laugh openly. He knew House possessed an educated, if perverse, sense of humor, and was intelligent enough to carry through a conversation on just about any subject, but so rarely had House, in all the years he'd known him, smile freely, Foreman wasn't sure if House had a full set of teeth.

It would be something to see the man smile, or at least not look so isolated and forlorn all the time. Even in a house-hold of four men who loved him, House remained a loner. Foreman had a thought. "Where would we set this all up?"

"The storage closet just off the back entrance, where we store the wood."

"Where're we supposed to put the wood?"

"You and Eli build a lean-to at the side of the house - it'd be a few more steps in winter, that's all."

Also stepping into boots and freezing his ass off during those few steps. "We could build a walkway, maybe even a covered one."

Wilson almost whooped. "Yes."

Foreman raised a hand. "Hang on, we can't do this without everyone's vote."

"Not House's."

"Yes, House's too. He's part of the family."

Wilson's heart sank. "I want this to be a surprise. Look - House is hiding it, but he really is depressed, and been feeling bad about himself since the twins were born. House thinks he's old. He feels useless. For him, that's like . . ._torture_."

"Okay, not House. We keep it a surprise." Foreman held up a hand of warning to calm Wilson's itching to go feet. "But if anyone else votes no, then it's no. We'll be using a lot of our gas up for this, so it has to be unanimous."

Wilson nodded. 'Let's ask them."

-

-

"Where's Foreman and Wilson?"

Chase exchanged looks with Eli. "Um, they took off in the car this morning. They're hoping to find another farm somewhere."

"For what?"

"Um, clothes, canned stuff, maybe even some diapers. Hey - they could get lucky and score some disposables."

House watched Chase with narrowed eyes. "You're lying." He looked over at Eli who had his arms crossed and was tapping one nervous foot on the floor. "So are you. It's a conspiracy of lies. Where did they _really_ go?"

Chase stood up. "Sorry, got animals to feed. Eli'll fill you in." Chase slipped out the back door, leaving a round-eyed Eli to take up the slack. He was suddenly abandoned and all alone with an irritated, curious House. A House presented with a mystery and on the prowl for the answer, and there was almost no depth to which he might not stoop to find that answer.

House leaned in closer, right to his face. Eli drew back a little. "Um, I d-don't really know."

House smiled. A tiny grin of evil-knowledge over his largest lover. The stutter was a clear tell. Eli was a terrible liar. And a sucker for a roll in the hay. "But you _almost_ know, don't you? Tell me everything and I'll take my clothes off right here. Chase is outside. We're all alone." House leaned in closer, real close this time, so Eli could smell his skin and feel his breath. Eli swallowed and leaned back again, House's chemical bomb making him dizzy.

"Whatsa' matter?" House said innocently. "Don't you love me anymore?" He nuzzled Eli's ear.

With superman effort, Eli slipped off the chair and out of the reach of House's groping hands. "That's not going to work, Greg. I promised I wouldn't tell."

"Hah!" House thrust a finger at him. "So you _do_ know."

Eli shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm still not going to tell you."

House dropped his hands, his few seconds of victory fizzled away. "Hey - come on. Just tell me. I promise I won't let them know you spilled."

Eli followed Chase out the door. At that moment, one of the babies decided to start bawling.

"Baby's crying, Greg." Eli said lightly, and needlessly, as the door shut.

"Go feed your stupid goats then." House yelled. "And try and guess the next time you'll be sleeping over in my room." He called out louder. "I doubt you can even count that high."

Not sure if Eli had heard him, House gimped to the living room and continued with baby-duty. A few moments of pleasant diversion followed by hours of un-remarkable routine. His children were wonderful. He loved them more than anything. He still felt depressed.

"You love your nanny _goats_ more than me." House grumbled, though if Eli had already reached the animal sheds, would certainly not hear him now. "Probably "loving" them as I speak." He muttered to himself.

House bounced Drake on his one good knee. His crippled thigh, which today had ached badly all morning, kept him in the house most of the time. His children occupied his hands but not enough his brain. There was little to distract him from boredom. House realized he had come near to the wrap-up of his half-useful years, having accomplished nothing but becoming a broken down, crippled up, graying baby-maker with no other practical utility what-so-ever.

House could feel a rare sensation growing in his chest. He knew the hormonal and chemical activity behind it, of course, but it still grew of its own stubborn volition. It was that rarely encountered - for him - human release that all people at one time or another displayed whenever the sadness, the pain, or the upset got to be too much to hold together. He felt like crying.

House tried to reason it away. He spent most of his day alone. Even when Wilson was in the house, with the exception of baby feeding times, he was usually busy elsewhere; in the kitchen preserving food, washing clothes, sewing, cleaning. And to escape that drudgery, Wilson got to vary his routine by switching duties with Chase now and then. Chase was becoming a pretty fair cook, while Wilson was learning what to do with goats and pigs, chickens and cows. Chase was also busy giving lessons in animal husbandry and veterinary skills.

Eli was teaching all the men how to load and fire a rifle, to trap and prepare meat (though of that particular skill House was content to remain ignorant).

Foreman was lovingly carving toys in the animal barn, little wooden wheely things for the boys to ride when they were old enough.

Other than the arrow tips House occasionally still had time to fashion for Chase's bow (and only done while watching over his kids), and the even rarer moment to take a walk by himself (during which Wilson sweated bricks that he might disappear again), House had only one job: Get pregnant, then get busy being Dad. Again and again.

Lately everything had been all about Wilson. House loved Wilson, he adored his kids, but he was lonely for normal, everyday company, and bored, and it was driving him mental.

But most of all, House felt old. Of the family of men, the oldest next to himself was Wilson and he was some _ten years_ his junior. Foreman. Eli. Chase. All had decades ahead of them with strong, working backs, mobile feet; each man partaking of a variety of daily activities and - best of all - verbal interaction with each other.

House wiped at his eyes angrily. _I change diapers_.

-

-

House greeted Wilson at the door with a heart full of spit-fire. "Where the hell did you two go? I've been stuck inside for two days with _eleven_ kids and no help at all."

Wilson tried to shimmy passed him with his arms loaded with cardboard boxes that had seen better days. "Getting some things." He staggered to the couch and plopped the items down as softly as his quivering arms would allow. "Chase and Eli were here."

"They were too busy keeping secrets to be of much use."

Wilson was followed out to the rusting vehicle by his agitated mate.

"Did it occur to you that I might want to go on a trip, too?"

Wilson looked at him with weary affection. "I thought you'd be pretty well done with travel."

House pursed his lips and blurted. "You know what I mean."

Foreman piled other boxes on the roof of the car and Chase held the door for him while he ignored House's griping and set his boxes down on the floor. Two more trips to the car was necessary before all the boxes had been brought inside.

Then two more trips to the vehicle's trunk produced four cooler-sized propane tanks. House stared, perplexed. "What the hell are those?"

Frustrated and in darkness, House limped after Foreman while he arranged the packages a little more neatly on and around the couch, setting the tanks down very carefully well away from the play-pen. Foreman watched House out of the corner of his eye, pleased to see that it was still possible to get House all flummoxed and dancing like he had ants in his pants. Foreman smiled. Today was turning into a fun. "Propane canisters, hence canisters full of propane."

House glared. "I can see that, you idiot. Where did you get them? Where the hell did you two _go_?"

Foreman stretched the fun out as far as he safely could. "We had a fit of nostalgia and went back to high school." Okay, that was enough. By House's murderous expression, he was ready to declare war, and that meant stop screwing with him right now or Foreman's favorite pants were likely to become the farm's newest flag hanging on the weather vane, flapping in the wind. Though a crippled one-good-legged gimp, House would some how figure out how to accomplish at least that - or perhaps something worse.

"Relax, House." Foreman said. "You're going to love this."

Pissed by the lack of answers from Foreman, House trailed Wilson into the kitchen, who was making busy with the tea kettle and cups. "Wilson-" Proceeding to fill Wilson's ears with the same questions he had just put to Foreman.

Chase drove the car out back and closed it up in the largest shed once more. He entered the house by way of the back step, kicked off his shoes, and stood there, watching Wilson and House verbally duke it out for a moment. Finally he put up his hands. "Shut up, both of you. My god - you're like children."

Chase was right. Wilson turned, planted both hands squarely on House's shoulders and pushed him down onto a chair. "House. _Sit_."

House sat as ordered. Then slumped. Wilson leaned over him. "It's a surprise. From me." He grinned like the Cheshire cat. "From all of us. And that's all I'm going to tell you."

House tapped his cane on the floor. He was a kid who had been kept out of the loop and now that he had been informed that the loop was for him, he wanted to jump inside the loop and look around. "_When_ are you going to tell me?"

Wilson went back to the counter and tea-making. "Tomorrow, you'll _see_."

-

-

When his mates presented the gift to him later the next day or, rather, steered him to the back room that used to contain the wood and presented him to the gift, for a moment House didn't say a word. Then he slowly crimped around the small room, looking at the shelves Foreman had pounded together, the counter-tops that had been fastened to the wall to hold all the dozens of parts that made up the gift. It was an amazing gift.

After his silent, contemplative inspection, House turned to them. "You got all this stuff from a high school?" He turned back. It was a pretty good set-up. A fully stocked chemical lab, complete with make-shift propane Bunsen burner, a hand-cranked centrifuge, rows of sparkling clean beakers, dishes, glass slides in their own glass-topped boxes, and at the center of it all, a real, working microscope. A big, expensive one.

"Sorry we couldn't fix you up a computer display, but with no electricity. . ." Foreman said. "But we can fashion an ice-box. you'll be able to store some of what-ever crazy shit you decide to cook-up here - at least during the winter."

House raised his eyes to them as a group, tentatively, almost shyly. Looked away. Nodded a little. He wasn't rendered quite speechless but - softly, a whisper "Thanks." - almost.

Wilson knew that the moment was an awkward one for House. The others picked up on Wilson's need to talk to House alone, and filed out of the room.

Wilson stood beside him. House still had his eyes roaming around the room and the huge amount of work they had put in to making a gift for him. "You guys must have worked all night on this." Then to break the sentimental charge in the air. "You realize you guys will be running any tests, don't you? Crippled leg and all."

Wilson nodded. Naturally. House needed to challenge himself, to think, and then to test those thoughts. But Wilson had no doubt House would slip in here when no one was looking, and stir bubbling things together like Frankenstein.

Wilson explained. "Foreman and Chase banged together the shelves and stuff ahead of time." He stared at House, recognizing the quiet astonishment on his face. In the old days, except for himself, no one gave House gifts. In these new days, House had been giving and giving by way of a family of wonderful children to raise and love. House deserved this, even if he thought he didn't. "Do you really like it?"

House nodded. "We can actually make proper medications here, at least some basic ones." His eye fell upon two stacks of thick books, each piled ten high. Chemistry, biology, pharmacology, anatomy, the human genome. Including three different books on local common and rare plant life, and two on North American animals, birds, fish and insects.

Wilson nodded. The day-long trip, the gas, the energy, the sacrifice of the room, all worth it and more. In those books and within his own mind, House had thousands of pages of possibilities. Good years and years ahead of playing doctor - only for real. A little bit of the better parts of the old world introduced into the new. Wilson would have to scratch his brain for everything he could remember from Laurent's studies and applications regarding the very newest evolutionary life: House and other BM's like him. To that, there were probably still some surprises ahead for them.

"Now we can finally figure out what part of me you're addicted to." House added.

Wilson wrapped his arms around House from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder, not easy since House had two almost inches on him. "That's not the question on my mind."

He turned his head half way around until their chins touched. "Oh? What is?"

Wilson nuzzled his cheek. "What part of you _aren't_ I addicted to?"

-

-

At bedtime, it was clear House had already been picking Foreman and Chase's brains clean about his first intended differential tests. After hours of House's running mouth, they'd slipped out to the animal barns to do - who knew what. House didn't care. Wilson was still present to pick over.

Wilson stripped, tossing his soiled clothes in one corner of the bedroom. House's room, to where House had invited him to stay for the night. Wilson proceeded to give himself a sponge bath while he, with quiet relish, watched House take his clothes off as well. Though his mouth never quit.

Wilson shivered. The bath water was cooling fast.

"Foreman and I figured we need to take samples of interstitial fluid, urine, blood, bowel-excretions, saliva, snot, every possible fluid in our bodies and - "

Wilson tossed the wet rag at House's face.

"Hey!" House caught it and threw it back, missing Wilson by two feet.

"What a lousy shot you are."

"That's not the only shots I can do."

Wilson smiled to himself. "Mmm, yes, I know. But can't you stop talking for a while?" Wilson walked over to him. House was rubbing his thigh.

"Let me do that." Wilson sat down beside him, and took over the motion, pushing House's hand away. House didn't seem to notice, and started up again. "We'll need to see how each reacts under the conditions of - _mmph_."

Wilson covered House's mouth with his own. He pulled away just an inch to say, "Be quiet for a while." Then pressed his lips home again.

House was on a roll, though, and kept up the chatter even while Wilson was trying to swallow his tongue. Every few breaths, House managed to get in a word here and there. "We'll" - _smack!_ - "need to" - _smooch!_ - "time the-_mumph-umm_" - Wilson pressed harder, effectively stopping up any more talk from his lover.

In a minute, House was lying down, in another, Wilson was ready at the gate. He dangled something above House's eyes like bait. "One condom left until Chase retires another Miss Piggy."

House rolled his eyes. "Get on with it." The differential could wait.

Wilson smiled, kissed House hard on the mouth, then carefully began to snap and pull the home-made rubber over his engorged penis. He stopped. "Oh, no."

It was almost a wail, and House lifted his head up. "What now?"

Wilson slipped the thing off again, his erection bowing before the show had even begun. "It has a tear."

House eyed him suspiciously. "Are you sure it isn't a _cut_?"

Wilson held the thing up to his eyes, making House go nearly crossed-eyed to see it properly.

"See?" Wilson showed him the spot near the tied off end. "It's worn thin here. That's why it tore - I probably broke it putting it on." Wilson sat up on his knees, still straddling House, still feeling his lover's erection against his aching balls. Looking down at House with dilated eyes full of hunger, his penis had faded but by no means had winked out. "Great." He felt instantly depressed. "Just great."

Blue balls and a storm of sexual frustration for a month. Batten down the hatches. Thar she blows.

House sighed, not with exasperation, but with a soft sigh of peaceful resolution. No storm on his horizon. "Forget the condom."

Wilson did a double-take. "For-forget it? _R-really??_"His voice pinched to a high squeak and almost broke. "But you could get pregnant."

"I could."

"But you don't want another baby, you've got eleven now." On the outside Wilson was being calm and reasonable, willing to accommodate whatever House had said he desired, namely - no more pregnancies. On the inside, he was yodeling off the top of Everest, his dick saluting the great wild world. _Yes-yes-yes!! _

House jerked his head at Wilson. "Eleven-shmevin. Come on. Let's go."

Wilson almost fainted from the instant rush of desire. His cock was iron again in seconds, and he poised it at the doors to Paradise. "Are you sure about this? It means another baby."

House kissed him and, using his long, muscled legs, pushed against Wilson's back. Wilson was convinced and slipped a little further, easily a perfect fit, into his breed-mate. The sensation was an engulfing of spirit. As far as Wilson was concerned, it was his whole purpose. This was the new world. Right here. Right now. It was the reason they had all traveled this far, and here they would stay. Just like this.

"An even dozen. I can count."

Wilson asked again. "Are you absolutely _sure_ you want another?"

House seemed sure, and of so, you just don't say no to the promise land. "Maybe just one more."

Wilson smiled, a lop-sided, seductive, purrie of lust and love. He slipped all the way in, moaning his approval of all things above and, especially, beneath him. He kissed him. "I love you so much."

House kissed back. "I know."

Wilson sank into his eyes, brushing together lips and the flesh of each other. New things were emerging and soon another new life of his body. The old world of pain and the hard crossing through it was far behind now.

Hello Zion.

XXXXXXX

END


End file.
